


Witch Hunt

by neeash



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Character Death, Discrimination, Drama, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Politics, Prince Alec Lightwood, Smut, Violence, kind of ambiguous ending but not at the same time, sorry - Freeform, witch hunts and burnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-12 23:50:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14738124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neeash/pseuds/neeash
Summary: Prince Alec Lightwood, heir to the throne of Idris and general of the army that burns witches has reached a point in his life where he begins to doubt the conventions of society, speculation that is enhanced when fate leads him to meet Magnus Bane, a man with gold glitter on his cheeks and one who shares beliefs that are incongruous to their time. And Alec is curious.





	Witch Hunt

**Witch Hunt**

Part One

 

The kingdom Idris was a modicum of the world that God himself carved out of the finest material, the outskirts radiating with impressions of beauty and the interior forever stained with splendour. Even the dirt that littered the poorer parts of the land glistened to retain the semblance of purity and cleanliness. Therefore in order to uphold such a superior status it was the duty of the royalty and its followers to purge those that threatened to contaminate their divine air.

The young children of the gentry were taught in schools about the vital importance of hierarchy and the God-given responsibility of removing those that did not conform. A prominent group that arose during this time were the witches; heretics that endangered all lives by playing god for they made deals with the devil in order to obtain powers that exposed the lives of innocents to the doors of hell. It was a time where the witches were to be burnt and sent back to the fiery underground they belonged to and serve their dissenter master for all eternity, as they decided to turn their backs on God.

Fear for the future of impending generations was high since no one wished to raise their child in a world that witches inhabited, since as long as their rebellious behaviour breathed the order of society was threatened. And chaos was detrimental, which was credible since humans functioned efficiently under a routine and those that attempted to contort that deserved to be removed.

Prince Alexander Gideon Lightwood was nine when he burnt his first witch. Even to this day, over ten years later he could still envision the lacerations from ropes creasing that mother’s skin, bright red lines concealed with coats of dirt and soil as the guards dragged her across the rocky ground to tie her to one of the many stakes. Her screams were unrelenting, piercing through the air like an arrow hitting its target and they caused Alec’s young ears to ring several days later for they were loud, oh _so_ loud. The women’s eyes were once a vibrant green but Alec could only remember disquietude and horror, as it seemed as though her no longer bore any colour. She had begged, pleaded, cried but Alec was always told not to submit to their pleas since they were the devils in disguise, wearing a mask of humanity and secretly plotting devious plans to manipulate them. So Alec did not give in and stared straight into the mother’s eyes, the two clefts in her face like a hollow abyss as he stood beside his father, King Robert and threw down the pike of fire to hear the familiar rhythmic _crackle crackle crackle_.

                  Now as a general of the army, Alec could no longer linger on the screams and cries of the people he burned since he was purifying his world like the elders once did. It was only fair to follow in one’s ancestors’ footsteps. The king and queen commended him for his unyielding efforts, as well as his siblings and he would like to say it was all worth it to somewhat hear a form of praise from a parent but visions of white flames haunted every night he managed to sleep through, so it was debatable whether the whole affair was compensated. But that argument was something Alec presumed he had to keep to himself because hesitation in a line of work like this was dismissible and worthy of being deemed unfit.

                  And as the first Prince, Alec _had_ to be able.

                  Currently enveloped between the sheets of the large four poster bed in his private quarters, Alec shifted to press weight on his left hip and peered at the gleaming sunlight leaking through the slight break of his bright red curtains. The scarlet hue clashed conspicuously with the rest of the muted miscellany in his room and he blamed that on his sister Isabelle who argued relentlessly until he gave in since apparently the lack of colour in his life contributed greatly to his “sour, blunt and uptight attitude.” Alec didn’t think the colour had any effect and nor did anyone else in the kingdom but he was a doting big brother.

                  The sunlight dilated his pupils and emphasised the swirling blotches of green in a pool of russet brown, like moss growing on the bark of a tree. It warmed Alec’s cool night kissed skin, an embrace akin to one a mother may give a child or so he thought since his mother’s affections never fared further than constructive criticism. He didn’t mind though, he should have already grown out of the longing for the loving touch it was said only a mother could give, as he was of age of adulthood. There was no reason he should be regressing back to his family when there were rumours amongst the castle of finding him a worthy wife to bear an heir. The world outside was already moving and there laid no plausible reason Alec shouldn’t be.

                  His pensive morning session was cut short by the familiar knock at the door, his usual morning servant girl with fresh linen sheets entering with a respectable bow. “Good morning, Prince Alec. Your bath and clothes has been prepared for you. I left the regular newspaper on your stool.”

                  Alec sighed into his pillow, dragging himself out of bed and stretching out his long limbs into the robe the servant wrapped him in to make his way to his private bathroom. Sometimes he would engage in conversation with the servant on topics relating to the growth of the garden since she also participated in cultivating the flora. It made for a refreshing start to the day but today Alec was tired and sore from training with his brother Jace yesterday so the mention of a bath rendered him zoned out to only that.

                  Two more servants were at the bathroom ready with soap and a scrub but he dismissed them, wanting to relax in the heat by himself. After they left, Alec stripped himself and groaned contently when the hot water unlaced the knots in his back, the rejuvenating atmosphere one he wished to constantly be in. The soft smell of pinewood and green tea leaked into the pores of his skin, staining him with that aroma for the rest of the day. When he spent enough time thinking about nothing, Alec reached out, water droplets trickling from his forearm like forest rain to grab the newspaper beside him on the servant’s vacant chair.

                  Unsurprisingly the front page covered a story of recent witch purges, describing how the couple attempted to hide out in an accomplices’ house who was deemed human but persecuted nonetheless considering it was a crime to wittingly aid suspected heretics. A father of four reported that the streets were safer now that they were gone, sending gratitude to the army with comments akin to that scattered all over the article.

Alec simply turned the page over, skimming through other reports and cooking recipes, inwardly entertained at the ludicrous comic strip at the end of the paper as he remembered how he and Jace waited impatiently every morning to read it when they were younger. The way they jumped on the balls of their feet, faces smeared with jam from the breakfast they swiftly ate and stood on tiptoes on either side of the King’s chair because they were too small to reach the table without help. The King would shake his head fondly and pass on the newspaper to his children that animatedly read the comic with explosive excitement. Alec remembered often hearing one of the King’s advisors informing him that there were more newspapers but the King would merely deny the suggestion, relaying that the eagerness of his sons was a firm feat of his mornings that needn’t be removed. But they grew up. All of them.

Discarding the newspaper back on the stool, Alec sunk deeper into the wide basin, the surface of his bottom lip moistened by the water, eyes drawing to a close once again until they opened to a knock at the door indicating that it was time he got out. He called out for the servants to enter in order to help him dry off and change into his fresh clothes for the day, as well as attempt to tame his hair into a more sophisticated nest. His mother always reprimanded him for his irreverent mien. Fiddling with the position of his belt that supported his sheathed sword, Alec brushed his hands on his black pants and walked to the dining hall, consecutive greetings erupting at his sides from several servants on the way there.

At the top of the table sat his sister Isabelle and little brother Max, next to each other engrossed in a conversation that was prone to bore Alec back into a deep slumber so he was grateful they paused when he arrived.

“Hey Alec,” Isabelle hummed over her cup of tea; long black hair combed flawlessly and nails lethally sharp. “I made some honey and nut porridge for you.”

He grimaced outwardly, occupying the seat opposite her. “No thank you. I’ll stick to a bread roll.”

Max gave a little high giggle, its pitch relaying his young age of nine as he waved animatedly at his brother, a small toy in his hand. “Hi Alec!”

Isabelle narrowed her dark eyes at Alec who currently reciprocated his brother’s greeting, a look she inherited from her mother. “It’s because of you no one ate my berry pie the other night! I spent so long on it.”

“You gave me food poisoning, Izzy.”

She rolled her eyes dismissively, blowing a cloud over her hot herbal drink. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I was bedridden for an entire week!”

                  The bickering between the two siblings ensued, Max’s big young eyes watching over thick framed glasses in intrigue until a mass of sleeked back blonde hair and stacks of paper interrupted it, the being smirking at the petulant interaction. Jace shook his head to himself, plucking Alec’s fresh buttered bread roll out of his hand and subsequently ignoring the noise of indignation following the act.

                  “As much as I love the sound of doting siblings in the morning, we have missions to do my dear brother and sister.” And with that said, Jace dramatically slammed the papers he was holding on the table while ripping a chunk of bread with his incisors to theatrically emphasise just that.

                  Alec reached for another bread roll, taking his time with slathering on the morning’s raspberry jam before retrieving his list of assignments. There was the usual patrol he participated in now along with his siblings (and guards) and an additional house investigation under the name “Madzie.” She was the goddaughter of a former witch named Iris and sightings of unusual red winds have been reported near the forest of her current residence, consequently spurring on the need for an investigation on whether she was also a witch. There was no other relevant information that tied itself to the case, surrounding the identity of Madzie but Alec supposed it was better to be safe than sorry. And well, it was his duty as the first Prince to fulfil the requirements of purifying the world; it was providence they said.

                  Alongside the army the lesser royals acted upon divine monarchy to accumulate witches for the seasonal Lustrate, spaced out by a three-month interval where a celebration took place and the witches were burnt. It was an event that the people attended beyond the castle ground where it happened, the smoke contaminating the swirls of the air travelling upwards to the clouds ensured that those unable to attend could see from their windows. The Lustrate was a cleanse in the name of God and Alec always watched silently onwards, standing beside his father who gave command to initiate the first burn and listened to the screams of the witches and the applause, the mourning song and Nephilim prayers of the people. He never dared to blink.  

                  Inspecting the manicured curve of her index nail, Isabelle drank the refill of tea one of the waiting servants provided before gracefully pushing herself off her seat. “I’m going to go gear up. You boys best be ready in ten. Come on Max, I’ll accompany you to your music lesson.”

                  “But I want to go with you guys!” Max protested adamantly, standing up with a huff that Isabelle arched a perfect eyebrow at, clearly not amused by the recurrent event that ensued after every single assignment.

                  For a moment the other brothers watched in amusement while Isabelle persuaded Max with a promise of letting him use her whip later and after brightened eyes and a farewell, the both of them had left the hall.

                  Alec thought about how it would actually take half an hour in response to Isabelle’s short deadline, recalling the lengthy time it actually took for Isabelle-and Jace to get ready and gulped down a pint of coffee before getting up himself in a lethargic manner, the warm, placating ambiance of his morning bath still enveloping him.

                  Jace was having his head massaged while whistling a tune that rang familiarity in Alec’s ears but he was preoccupied with tightening the laces of his boots to ponder further although he noted that it was a sad tone. Alec called out to Jace to tell him that he would gather guards, a command from the King that the both perceived contemptible for they were strong enough that they did not require protection but assassination attempts would be less likely with it so it was an order they had to obey. His advisor Raj was waiting outside of the hall making the arrangements easier since he left them in his supposed trustworthy hands leaving more time for Alec to accumulate needed equipment.

                  Raj was Alec’s new advisor, which was a fairly new aspect in the young Princes’ life considering he always dismissed the need for one because he preferred the solitude or the company of his siblings enough. However King Robert’s insistence on having one was met without disregard on his twentieth birthday since Alec couldn’t send the man away when his father personally introduced him with high regard for his abilities. So Alec simply bowed his head in gratitude, acquiescing the King’s gift.

                  Admittedly Alec’s blunt attitude didn’t mesh well with Raj’s brashness so perhaps it was his father’s way of illustrating that he should filter his opinions for Raj certainly did not hold back to voice his own. Raj had the same mind-set as the current King, which was probably another reason why Alec did not get along amiably with him.

                  “Your majesty my King ordered me to inform you beforehand, Prince Alec. You are to attend tomorrow’s Clave meeting with him,” Raj relayed when he arrived back with a respectable amount of guards in his stead, dressed up in armour and equipped with swords and shields. “It starts promptly at nine.”

                  Alec frowned noticeably. “Why must I go? I was under the impression that only leaders went to that sort of thing-“

                  “Prince Alec,” Raj interrupted him curtly, eyes dark and firm. “You are going to be King. These lowly assignments with the heretics are simply child play; it’s time that you begin to think about politics, the future, _your_ future.”

                  “Well I do not wish to delve into _your_ politics,” Alec replied resolutely, voice terse. “I figured my weekly council with the local dignitaries was sufficient enough.”

                  With a pronounced scowl, Raj crossed his arms. “Time’s are forever changing, Prince and one day you’ll no longer just be of that title-“

                 “My father is still King. My mother is still Queen. And I’m still just a Prince. Tell him I’m not going.”

                  Raj was visibly vexed by Alec’s petulant argument, his eyes narrowed and eyebrows drawn down to sketch stress lines on his forehead. Alec would have sneered but he figured it was better not to press Raj’s button any further in the morning for there was still the entire day to go. So when Raj only continued to stare ominously at Alec, the prince sighed and stalked past him choosing to ignore the words his advisor said when he did.

                  “Sooner or later you’ll learn what it takes to be a leader. Sacrifices must be made.”

                  Despite the foreboding message behind Raj’s parting words, Alec was not in the mood to decipher things so early in the day. His father- the King did not need him present at the Clave, where discussions about the people, foreign affairs and the law took place because in all honesty, Alec was afraid. Fearful of the responsibility he would have to burden, the hopes and dreams and survival of the people he observed over the top balcony of the castle where important speeches occurred. He wasn’t ready to be King and quite frankly Alec didn’t think he was fit to be one.

                  “Hey dazed and confused, you ready?” Jace asked, shaking Alec’s shoulder in a motion that literally shook him out of his trance.

                  “Y-yeah, I’m good,” Alec replied, albeit a bit startled but covered it up by holding his head up high with an easy expression. “Where’s Izzy?”

                  Jace cocked his head towards the door. “Waiting- impatiently might I add. Apparently it’s been _hours_.”

                  “Always so melodramatic,” Alec muttered lowly under his breath as he headed towards the accumulating group at the front entrance of the castle.

                  Isabelle was leaning on the door, black leather clad battle gear on along with her trusty companion: her whip tucked into the belt around her hips. She narrowed her eyes at her brothers, mentally counting the amount of guards accompanying them on the trip. “I thought I said not to be late. I’ve been waiting and that wasted time is time you’re both going to make up for me.”

                  The pair of men exchanged looks and shrugged in surrender. The both of them knew from extensive experience that it was usually better to go with Isabelle in moments like this, when the three of them knew she was in the right- even though this current situation wasn’t severe, Alec didn’t think she would put him through too much anguish so he just accepted his fate.

                  With guards a few feet in front, back and flanks the trio began their lengthy patrol of the grounds. Nobles and business people bowed their heads in reverence of their presence, fleeting greetings flying past their ears as they searched for suspicious behaviour. Usually it didn’t take both princes and the princess to conduct reconnaissance but once in a while, like today it was commanded that they did in order to burgeon authority or so King Robert claimed. Alec preferred it this way since it made for a livelier scout in comparison to doing it alone and perhaps sometimes he could take a step back and breathe while his brother and sister piloted the physical aspect of the interrogations. Even to this day and age, Alec still hadn’t grown used to harshly grabbing and sword pointing at one’s face drowning in terror while they were questioned on their loyalty to the crown and kingdom. Most of the time, innocence could never be proven and Alec was always prodded to persecute them since suspicion was enough to arouse their nature of being a witch. And he was never allowed to show hesitation for that was a sign of weakness that would only just undermine his position as general and Prince of Idris.

                  A couple of hours past midday, Jace suggested that they should split and investigate their respective individual case since their energy levels were deteriorating from the patrol. Despite Isabelle’s stories and Jace’s charm, Alec couldn’t help but feel even more tired than he did before because he knew just how much dire everything would become when he had to visit that house, with a couple of guards instead of his siblings. He left Isabelle at a fork street; catching the pouch of electrum she threw with a wave and a promise to see him soon. Alec watched her go, glanced at the guards stationary beside him and sighed with heavy shoulders on his way to his destination, hands clenched around the bag of herbs. The electrum was toxic, lethal even to witches- it burnt and ate through their flesh, blistering and red and bloody. It was a way to confirm an identity but even those that it did not affect had their heads on a pike since some believed proficient witches conjured a sort of protection against the poison- but it caused pain and Alec guessed the higher-ups liked that.

                  The trek to Madzie’s home took longer than Alec assumed it would, not having taken in the amount of times he got lost through the dead endless paths in the forest, farming its fauna and trees into consideration. At least it provided him with enough time to clear his mind filled with dreaded thoughts of his family’s expectations and his imminent succession to the throne- the birds tweeting amongst each other made for a distraction, though temporary, it helped.

                  When they reached a narrow path, darker than the others from the abuse of footsteps, Alec ran a hand through his hair when he realised that they had finally made it to his destination. He raised his eyebrows at the “ _Pandemonium_ ” physician sign carved into wood in front of the house with an arrow that indicated that it was located behind the house and wondered how the injured would be able to get help from this private clinic when it was positioned in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t seem like a beneficial business plan in Alec’s opinion.

                  It was a lone building, quaint but large and carried the scent of sweet nature around it unlike the smell of metal from swords Alec’s home had. The guards stood a considerable amount of metres away from him in accordance to his orders, when he straightened his back, broadened his heavy shoulders as if he had suddenly sprouted wings and politely knocked on the door.

                  The door swung open almost immediately, startling Alec who blinked rapidly to clear the smudge in his sight and observe the person who stood before him.

                  “And… who are you?” The voice asked, light and suggestive, almost illicit in the way they lingered on the last vowel, like a predator torturously sucking the life out of its prey to make sure it was actually dead before devouring it, perfect teeth and pink lips.

                  Once Alec’s sight finally gave way to clarity, he wondered whether he stepped into another dimension or hit his head on a rogue branch for the encompassing feelings that constricted him to see only the man in front of him possessed him completely and left him rather breathless.

                  Doe brown eyes lined and augmented with deft streaks of kohl, lips highlighted with a hue of red like he had just been biting into the juiciest strawberry known to man and cheeks shimmering with a coat of glitter that was sure to look absolutely stunning in sunrise when it enhanced the golden colour of his skin. Like an ethereal being.

                  Lithe fingers wrapped in diamond rings and thick embossed bands rapped a melodic jingle lightly on the door’s panel to fill the expectant silence, sheer red silk shirt crinkling under the pressure of his stance that involved leaning languidly against the doorframe. Alec noticed and realised and promptly regretted his strange first impression he put forward of gawking like a simpleton at the man who oozed of salacious confidence like it ran through his body instead of blood. He blamed his current inept social skills on the fact that he had never laid eyes on someone like him before.

                  “A-Alexander- Prince Alec,” The taller man coughed quietly, straightening himself up once again but found that his throat ran dryer than fresh wheat grains on a summer’s day, preventing Alec from talking more just then.

                  The man in front of Alec gave a clandestine smile, his lips stretching an impeccable crease in his face like the perfect paint stroke from a Michelangelo work. “Oh, pardon my impertinence, dear Prince _Alexander_. I’m Magnus Bane and to what do I owe this pleasure of a regal visit?”

                  Even though no one referred to Alec with his full name, he found that he didn’t mind for the way it rolled off Magnus’ tongue was unlike a sound he had ever heard, uttered in such an unwittingly titillating way that had the young prince shudder- as if he were bewitched. Alec wringed his fingers together and hid them behind his back, attempting to conceal his nervous disposition.

                  “I’m here on behalf of the army,” Alec informed primly, nodding his head curtly to the guards standing further down the wide porch. “To see a woman who goes by the name Madzie.”

                  The initial amiable atmosphere was morphed into one of defence and caution with the way Magnus rolled back his shoulders, crossing toned arms across his chest that made his necklaces audibly clatter together like rain hitting the windowpane. “I’m Madzie’s guardian. What could the army want with her?”

                  Alec visibly shrunk in authority, placated by the way Magnus presented himself in a superior manner like a proper leader would but he had a duty to fulfil.

                  “She’s suspected of being a witch- it’s standard procedure to investigate the relatives of established witches. Since you’re her guardian I’m sure you’re aware of her godmother Iris Rouse, who was detained and punished for being one.”

                  “You mean she was _killed_?” Magnus cut in candidly, eyes dark with smoulder and voice bitter. “Slain, slaughtered, maimed for being different? For being a _witch_. We’re both adults here, Prince Alec, I see no reason to sugar coat the truth.”

                  Alec blanched. “I-uh…right, well yes that’s the truth shortened.”

                  “It’s quick and easy that way, isn’t it? A simple flick of the wrist, how you people so easily throw them in the fire for _solely_ being a witch.”

                  “Have- have I done something to offend you, Mr Bane?”

                  At that Magnus levelled his gaze with Alec for a second longer before quirking in a friendly smile and releasing a litter of pleasant chuckles that immediately brushed away the stuffy defective air. The atmosphere was no longer stiff and suffocating, hot and heavy with a lack of clarity but now merely normal. But Alec didn’t think he would be able to forget the latent malice behind Magnus’ stature and words even with the current presence of his infectious smile- beautiful and new.

                  “Of course not, Prince Alexander. Forgive my intrusiveness, I haven’t had my morning caffeine blast,” Magnus bowed his head slightly; bringing light to the ginger streaks in his dark hair that Alec didn’t notice was there. “Please come in- though I don’t think I have enough cups to go _around_.”

                  Alec followed Magnus’ eyes that flew past him in sync to his last sentence, realising that he was talking about his guards so the prince ordered them to stay put while he entered the attractive man’s house alone. The décor was elegant and Alec noted that it suited Magnus completely, like the furniture was made for him. Walls covered with paintings and sofa supporting plump cushions with decorative tassels, where one of them currently acted as a bed for a sleeping cat. It was not out of the ordinary for the people to house cats, despite the supernatural superstitions surrounding them since it was better than leaving them out as strays but Alec noted that it did not help Madzie’s case considering she lived here.

                  “What would you like to drink, Prince Alexander?”

                  During the quiet minutes of Magnus preparing the drinks Alec made himself as comfortable as he could on the sofa unoccupied with the cat, still feeling awkward from their previous conversation. He knew burning, hanging, beating witches- _people_ was horrific and despicable but Alec had no choice as a Prince of Idris. It wouldn’t do much for uniformity if a man of his calibre were a nonconformist. No matter how much it made him sick to his stomach.              

                  Magnus came back with two mugs of hot drinks and one containing a fruity drink that released an aroma of cranberries.

                  “I’ll just go fetch Madzie. I won’t be a second.”

                  It was barely twenty seconds later when Magnus arrived hand in hand with a little girl clad in a pale pink frock and floral scarf, her curly hair half pinned up by a ponytail and strictly glued to her carer’s side as her dark eyes watched the high-class stranger in her home warily. Alec blinked in alarm, incredulity painting his expression in streaks when he realised that Madzie was not a woman like he presumed but a little girl no older than six and an incredibly shy one at that.

                  Magnus fondly stroked a hand through her hair. “Sweet pea, this is Prince Alexander of Idris. Remember we saw him on the horse that day in the market?”

                  Madzie nodded slowly when her memories proved to match Magnus’, her stance relaxing slightly but still adamantly remaining at his side. Alec couldn’t help but smile gently at her, the image of her holding onto Magnus reminding him of the times when his little brother was still so young. The way little Max would follow him everywhere he went, how he wouldn’t sleep until he read him a bedtime story and tucked him into bed with the promise of seeing him tomorrow. Alec always tried to be the first one he saw outside of the servants.

                  “I like your scarf, it looks really pretty on you.”

                  Madzie instinctively touched the material of the accessory, a small smile plastered on her face that brushed away all initial caution. “Magnus gave it to me.”

                  “Then Magnus has very nice style. Do you know what kind of flowers they are?”

                  A small frown lined the little girl’s lips as she glanced up at Magnus who nodded at her to at least attempt an answer. She scrunched her face in pure concentration and Alec laughed quietly as he envisioned the gears working in her small mind, steam blowing out of her ears.

                  Then Madzie stared straight in tenacity. “Hidegrens.”

                  “ _Hydrangeas_. You almost got it, Madzie, well done!” Magnus ruffled her hair and led her to sit on the sofa opposite of Alec. “Here drink your juice.”

                  The little pep in Madzie’s small steps portrayed her uplifting spirits towards achieving Magnus’ praise and she followed his command without hesitation, holding her cup with two hands as she gulped down the red drink. Though Madzie was incognisant of the intention behind Alec’s unprecedented visit, she seemed to be tolerant of him enough that Magnus trusted him in the same vicinity as her. It wasn’t something that happened often so Magnus took that opportunity to ease her back into society, despite Alec’s objective.

                  Alec looked around the room to fill the momentary silence, the sound of sips of drinks hanging in the air. The review on the previous interaction had the prince ponder on whether he should really be here, intruding on what seemed like a comfortable improvised family- not one made by ties of blood but bonds. When he bought his eyes back in congruence with the direction of his face, he caught Magnus’ in a hold, the gaze a little hesitant but withholding something that neither knew the meaning of and how important it would become.

                  “So Prince Alexander. What are you going to do exactly?” Magnus asked, breaking the stare with a flutter of long eyelashes and fingers absentmindedly playing with the coloured tips of his hair.

                  At the mention of his name, Alec nodded in response. “Y-yeah, I just need Madzie to hold something for me. Here, I have it in my pocket somewhere…”

                  “Will it hurt?” Magnus probed insistently while wiping Madzie’s mouth with his handkerchief of runaway crumbs from a Shrewsbury biscuit she had just consumed.

                  There was a pause before Alec replied with his head held a little higher. “That depends.” He intentionally neglected to add how he hoped it wouldn’t.

                  If Magnus was against the whole ordeal he didn’t visibly illustrate it in any way, only meet Alec’s eyes with an affirmative brandish of his hand, each finger dancing an individual motif. The way the Asian man moved was fluid but conspicuous which was only heightened by his unique physical appearance. It was as if Magnus’s movements were a dance in itself, like how a predator would charm its prey into a hypnotic state that encompassed their every cell with thoughts of only them and only ever them. Like he was cursing him with a blessing.

                  With a loving hand, Magnus stroked Madzie’s hair whispering words of reassurance for what was about to happen to her. He was careful in what he said, saying that she was a strong girl for doing this and that he would never let anyone hurt her and that he would never leave her side for anything. “Even if there was a sale for my favourite gold glitter, I wouldn’t go okay? I’ll be right here.”

                  Madzie just nodded, too young to understand the dire extent of the situation she was in which only filled Alec with more thoughts on how much he resented this. Because if she was a witch, this little girl with a timid smile, Alec would have to char her bones all the way back to hell like he had done to all those over people. He used to take record on the amount of witches he caught but throughout the years, Alec found no sentiment to it. It was a rather sickening habit now that he thought about it.

                  A few seconds ahead and Magnus surveyed Alec with a playful expression. “Shall we make our way over there or will you come here, Prince Alexander?”

                  “Ah- I’ll come,” Alec replied with a flush that dusted pink over his high cheekbones.

                  Alec strode over to the sofa that occupied the other people in the room, deciding that it would be more appropriate if he leant down in front of Madzie instead of hanging like a gangly looming tree that would only deter her from him. He made sure he was not in close contact with her, and proceeded when Magnus motioned for him to do so. He held out a branch of electrum towards her. “Madzie, do you think you can hold onto this for me for a bit?”

                  She merely glanced at Magnus before tentatively brushing her nimble fingers to retrieve the herb in her small hand, tightening her hold on it by making a fist. Alec watched on to observe any sort of distinctive behaviour that would imply that Madzie was in pain or affected by the naked touch of electrum to her flesh. The seconds seemed to drag on like time was a palpable elastic band that wouldn’t snap no matter how hard one pulled. Though Madzie did not seemed fazed in the slightest, her shoulder relaxed into Magnus’ side and the cat perched on her lap as her fate wouldn’t be decide that very moment, whether she would be killed right there and then.

                  For the last moments Alec looked at Magnus, quirked plump lips and glittered cheeks with a light tilt of his head as if he was suggesting something but Alec had always been oblivious to any sort of provocation so he merely perceived it as indication that the interrogation should end.

                  With a relieved smile, Alec held out his hand for the electrum. “Thank you for holding onto that for me, Madzie. You did well.”

                  Without thinking twice, Madzie handed the herbs back to the prince, the procedure over and done with before it even started. Alec’s knees cracked as he stretched himself up to his authentic height, eyes boring temporarily on Magnus’ exposed collarbone, the sliver of golden skin that teased those of what could be. The scarlet material of his thin shirt complemented the colour of Magnus’ skin like bread and butter, perfect and ready to eat-

                  “I should go,” Alec announced abruptly, catching himself in his thoughts before it developed into something too bawdy for his liking. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience I caused for the both of you.”  
                  Magnus ceremoniously rose up to his feet, patting Madzie’s head before putting both hands into his tight trouser pocket, craning his neck slightly to meet Alec’s eyes that blinked nervously from the pressure. “Oh darling, this whole ordeal has been an irrefutable disturbance but your fleeting presence has left me rather…insatiable.”

                  The last word fanned Alec’s face like a soft, warm slap, refreshing yet terse. He laced his fingers together behind his back once again, nails dragging indents into his palms in order to retain the intensifying bowl of fire rippling within his abdomen. Magnus’ voice was like a slick of oil, igniting and invigorating Alec’s flames, hot white heat embracing his every limb. It was undeniable- _irremediable_ that Alec felt a dark longing towards Magnus and that was parlous, perilous- _immoral_.

                  “Mag- Mr Bane-“

                  “Magnus is fine.”

                  “ _Magnus_. My report on Madzie’s situation will be one that does not require further investigation.”

                  “As expected,” Magnus intercepted shortly.

                  Alec clamped his mouth shut, jaw heavy with countless impending words but his mind was logical in the sense that he no longer had any reason to stay enclosed in the mans’ abode. The crest on his uniform veered him back to reality.

                  “Then I will take my leave. I wish you both the best,” Alec swiftly turned on his boots, scurrying out of the house but not without a stumbling halt at fiddling with the knob of the front door, which left enough time for an addictive whisper of a farewell. “Goodbye, Prince Alexander.”

 

***

“What a royal pain in the ass.”

                  A laugh threaded through the air, reverberating the particles around him. “Bet you’d like that.”

                  Magnus narrowed his eyes towards the sound when his friend, Catarina emerged from the corner of the room with a smoke of blue outlining the undulations of her body to indicate her use of glamour. She faced her old acquaintance with a pointed look that silently encouraged him to reveal the context behind the prince’s unforeseen arrival. However he was preoccupied with the stinging pain blistering the palm of his hand, angry blots of blood and clots decorating the now lacerated skin. During the time when Madzie held the electrum, Magnus had internally used a swap spell with her in correspondent to the sensations of her hand therefore whatever the electrum should have done, would inflict upon Magnus instead. It was commendable thinking on the warlock’s part really in terms of the short amount of time provided.

                  “That hurt?” Catarina asked when she noticed a droplet of blood circle around one of Magnus’ rings, settling next to Madzie who quietly beamed at her presence.

                  Magnus snapped the fingers of his unharmed hand with a resounding _snap_ , light blue formless flames colouring the air around him. “Not anymore, my dear.”

                  “Good. Now tell me why you were treating some royal shit to a bit of Bane hospitality.”

So after emptying his mug of coffee and replacing it with strong liquor, Magnus informed Catarina of recent events while Madzie absently wove a basket she had been working on for the past week. The older lady did not overlook the audible gulp Magnus stole from his cup when he described the interaction between Alec and Madzie, brown eyes glazed for a second before flitting back and forth to follow his sporadic hand movements. She knew Magnus more than she knew herself so it was credible to note that the prince had left an imprint on him, for better or for worse.

                  “So, there’s that,” Magnus sighed dramatically, kicking his feet up onto the table and regarding Catarina with a troubled expression. “Madzie’s just settled in. I can’t put her through moving somewhere else again.”

                  Catarina nodded in agreement, whacking Magnus’ legs with an echoing _whap_ to remove them from the table she disinfected in the morning. “And moving away will just bring about more suspicion.”

                  “I have to develop that transport system as soon as possible but my weary, poor mind has been relentlessly tousled with lately.”

                  Catarina fought the urge to roll her eyes at her friends’ inherent melodramatic behaviour. “Ragnor said he was to come by for a while. Perhaps he can help.”

                  “Ah, that dear bastard would only take all the credit.”

                  While the two adults discussed matters relating to the witch allegations against Madzie, the little girl in question had paused in her ministrations and attempted to understand the main points of the conversation surrounding her. She couldn’t quite comprehend the embossed vocabulary but the discussion was centralised on the topic of Madzie herself- that much she could deduce on her own. And by the fleeting injury that Magnus had and the concerned lines sketched on Catarina’s face like she had drank something acrid caused Madzie’s stomach to knot in itself, like perpetual stirring snakes that couldn’t be placated. Her blatant expression of unease and disquietude did not go undetected by the adults in the room who broke their conversation in response to the radiating heat of magic gradually igniting from the little girl in the room, like a fresh out of the womb fire, young but deadly.

                  Immediately, Catarina turned towards the girl with a furrowing brow. “Madzie, what’s wrong? You hungry or something?”

                  With a responsive shake of her head as indication of a negative reply, Catarina shared a concerned look with Magnus who was absently playing with the rings seated on his fingers, occasionally rubbing the pads of his thumb and index finger together to somewhat ease the tension. Magnus lightly toed his way in front of Madzie in an uncomfortable crouch, cool fingertips brushing away rogue hairs that were plastered on her moistened skin, damp from the heat magic she was unconsciously radiating.

                  “Hey, sweet pea. You know you haven’t done anything wrong right?”

                  Madzie looked up at that, eyes blinking at the comforting cold touch that clashed with her hot skin. “I haven’t?”

                  Magnus smiled dotingly as well as sadly since thoughts of how Madzie’s past bought her up with a mind of self-abasement knocked insistent reminders in his head that he had to treat her with the delicacy of a child, despite her being a witch. There were things that could be uttered and heard by her young ears but in the instance like now, where it would just enclose her with nightmares of fire and ropes because of who she was, was an example that Magnus would have to wait a little longer to make her involved. Therefore to shelter her from the world he didn’t even want her to know more about, he would protect her with his whole being and the cove of the home and family they created together. Magnus was Madzie’s family as she was his and families protected one another.

                  “Of course you haven’t, Madzie. There’s not a bad bone in your body but remember to promise me you won’t use your magic without me or Catarina there.”

                  “I promise,” Madzie confirmed firmly, her eyes flitting between Magnus and Catarina for reassurance. “So… everything is okay?”

                  Catarina grabbed her by the shoulders in a tight hold against her own chest, one may perceive as assertive but Magnus knew the older lady well enough to understand that was her way of affection. “You’re too young to worry about the world, silly girl. Go play with the cat and your dolls like you should be doing.”

                  With a giggle, Madzie hugged Catarina back as well as Magnus before plucking up Chairman Meow into her small arms and skipping to another room in the house to do just that. After a droned out sigh, Catarina rolled her shoulders with the bones clicking like a persistent door handle. “And I’m too old to be doing this job.”

                  “Oh my darling Catarina, you don’t look a day over two hundred,” Magnus insisted lightly, travelling to the back of the sofa to pop out the knots in her shoulders with a massage.

                  “Go suck on something Magnus, I was up all night with those mundanes claiming to be cursed by a witch for bad odour. And there’s no polite way to say that you have bad hygiene and stink because you haven’t taken a fucking shower in the last two weeks.” Catarina scowled but she leant back into Magnus’ massage, his conversational humming prompting her to ramble her heart out of tension. “I can assure you, I wouldn’t waste my magic on something as doltish as that when I could be creating heals for actual problems and yet the appointments accumulate. I’ll require a larger workplace if more of these shits come to me for measly issues.”

                  Deftly, Magnus kneading his phalanges against the opposing tightness looped in Catarina’s back figuring that though magic would be an easy way out of this, he preferred doing mundane things like this without the help from the supernatural. It meant more, somehow, that Magnus was actually spending his time and effort into easing the tension from his friend’s burdened body. It was something he certainly appreciated when wearing the other shoe.

                  Catarina popped an air bubble in her fingers, while she nonchalantly said, “Magnus, we’re going to be alright,” though the content in her words said she was all but calm.

                  The both of them had known each other for centuries, built up a forever accumulating friendship with memories of mirth and calamity, comfort and tragedies, the good and the bad. It was one that in actual fact needn’t be quantifiable by the amount of time they knew one another but comprehended by the sheer intensity of what they meant to each other. There was no analogy that could define Catarina’s existence to Magnus and vice versa but he liked to see either of them as the sun and the earth; one that shone the light while the other basked in sight since without one another there would be no use existing and everyone would live in absolute darkness.

                  “I would never question your judgement for one second, my dear. I’ve learnt that the hard way,” Magnus mused fondly before pursing his red lips in a thin line, firm with conviction. “But I will protect my family and ensure that nothing like _that_ ever happens again, no matter what the cost.”

 

***

 _Demon_.

                  Alec leant back in the soft plush cushion of the insulated chair in the large library of the castle with a loud sigh that bothered the inanimate objects around him. The raucous scratching of his quill to paper was soundless now that he had paused his previous sought to arduously take notes of what he was reading in a speed that caused his wrist to ache dully afterwards. So while Alec allowed his hand to cramp itself back to normal, he reviewed all that he read over the past few weeks.

                  Witches or warlocks, dependent on sex as cited in some books, were half human and half demon, tainted with the blood of Satan due to heritage or in some instances where an individual: “ _In the circumstance of unmitigated despondency, i.e. the loss of a loved one, or in the circumstance of absolute solitude then in those forlorn moments where that individual’s spirit transcends is the only time when their minds are cognisant of the place of fire where Satan lives and the place of light where God resides. If that individual is weak in laity or ambivalent in faith, it is credible to note their definite subjugation under Satan’s temptation that is a subsequent action of condemning God and accepting the exchange of power and soul. The sold soul cannot ascend nor is any longer a thing of God_ …” Alec’s fingers lingered on the word “solitude” as if it spoke to him outside of all the information he just absorbed, such a cacophonic word that left a bitter taste on his tongue as he uttered it into the silence of the study. It was a word not unknown but Alec feared the consequence of peering into the depths of connotations surrounding the single word that left his heart heavy in his chest and caused his throat to close up. With a sudden muscle spasm, he closed the “ _Cacodemonolgy: Demi-Demon Deception. Volume IV”_ book with a resounding slam that violently shook him out of his trance, something Alec found himself doing a lot recently.

                  According to some texts he read, witches were inherently evil and subjected to hell in consideration to their blood seeing as it was impure. It was a contentious discussion that Alec frowned upon the more he researched about it, his eyes flitting over jargon filled sentences and mind reeling from the extensive information he was forcing himself to take in.

As someone who condemned those to fire for being witches, Alec thought it rather ignorant that he had no exterior knowledge around the subject that always made his palms sweaty and jaw clench because of the ludicrous nature of it all. He remembered the day his mother shouted and intensely reprimanded him and Isabelle for reading a short novel that they picked up from the castle grounds one day about the immorality of witch burnings. Alec had to be around twelve but his curiosity around the topic was limited to a single path that the witches were evil and ruining the divine structure of society so they had to be put down for treachery. He was not to question the divine rights of the monarchy for they moved forward in accordance to providence and who was Alec to go against God? To go against the prayers he read in congregation every week.

Fingers stained and nails crusted with ink, Alec furrowed his eyebrows absently picking at the scar on his left. There had to be a way to prove the innocence even if one was a witch, he thought surreptitiously thankful for the hidden cove of his mind. If anyone in the kingdom overheard his thoughts, Alec would either be exiled or diagnosed with a witch’s curse- whatever happened, it wouldn’t be good. So he let his thoughts unravel and converse with one another as if there were actual people in his mind having a discussion.

To deem one as immoral for the way they were born hardly seemed like a godly moral principle, but Alec supposed since morals were subjective, the argument could be used for either side. Therefore in the instance of dismissing the individual of their witch background that would merely consequently make them a normal being, just like the rest of them. Alec wondered why it couldn’t be seen that way. Why did everything fall to the witches, things like the plagues, bad harvests and heartbreak? Such situations that indeed couldn’t be due to their magic, why were the witches the scapegoat?

“Surely their magic could be used for good?” Alec spoke pensively aloud, internally wishing there was someone else who shared his thoughts. An image of shiny brown skin and brown eyes outlined with kohl flashed insistently in his head.

 _Magnus_. Alec almost laughed at his stupidity since it was that unorthodox man who prompted this latent curiosity within him about the witch burnings by raising the legitimacy of murdering someone for being a witch and unwittingly coerced him to act upon it by researching further into the topic. Even though most of the books he found were locked away in the King’s private library, tucked away from all eyes, some pages torn and pilfered or ruined with scorch marks that reiterated their reason for secrecy. These pages were vestiges of literature that the King and Queen and the Clave didn’t want anyone to see because it contained words that questioned their authority over the magic _bestowed_ upon selected people. It talked about how magic was a gift- not a curse.

“Alec! Where are you?”

The impending sound of his little brother’s voice ringing in his ears alarmed Alec, who at once frantically began slamming down the covers of open forbidden books and covering them with scraps of paper that held personal notes, albeit spilling the pot of ink he was using all over his clothes.

“Fuck. Fucking _. Fuck_.”

Max gasped loudly with small hands over his mouth that forever held that wooden toy of his, now in front of a troubled, wary Alec who looked back at him with eyes that he hoped didn’t spell out that he was doing something wrong. “Oooh, Alec, you said a bad word- Eww, oh my god, what’s that all over you? Ah, what are you reading? Can I see it!?”

“No- no wait a second Max,” Alec objected, thanking the stars for his long limbs that helped as he used his arms to conspicuously cover the desk he was at. “Look ah, why don’t I take you to the market? You like going there, right?”

As if struck with a flash of amnesia, Max’s eyes lit up behind his glasses at the mention of visiting the plains outside, all previous questions neglected which appeased the desperation etched on Alec’s face as it was replaced with an expression of pure relief. The one thing Alec realised about kids, or perhaps it was simply Max’s disposition- was that they had an erratic, transient attention span when locked onto one thing so in circumstances like this one, it definitely came in handy.

After deciding to meet at the front door in five minutes, Alec threw on a new dark shirt, discarding his ruined one that made it difficult to deduce whether it was initially the colour of the ink or the actual dye of the material for the stain burgeoned like a forest fire. He was sad to see his favourite shirt to wear at home go to waste, the top two buttons having been previously jettisoned from the time Jace was bigger than him and they were training together one hot afternoon in the gardens, Alec not having reached the stage of a proper growth spurt yet. Though now, despite Alec was taller, he found that height didn’t always mean an instant win- skill and strength and will were all significant feats to a battle that together accumulated to a victory. Or so his fighting instructor, Hodge said.

Equipping himself with his usual sword, Alec’s fingers brushed over the case that held his bow and quiver with a fond smile, memories of the familiar _snap_ of the bowstring as it was expertly tugged back, the consequent exhilarating gush of wind that slapped his young cheeks from the momentum of the arrow and the proud smile he would have plastered on his face when he struck his target. Isabelle had always been mesmerised by his skill, always watching him train and Jace had admitted he looked cool after a while, so from a tender age Alec wielded his bow and arrow with pride. But then reality dawned through and King Robert said that no prince of his was to not be without a sword, a blade, someone who fought on the frontlines. There was no need for an archer who fought on the sidelines; behind the chaos- Alec was the first prince, heir to the throne and had to be on top for all to see.

Dismissively, Alec closed his weapons chest and headed to the front door, greeted by a jumping, excited Max and two guards. During the walk, Max talked about his day, Hodge’s tenacity about getting back up after being pushed down and wanting to eat something sweet. Alec walked in a slight slouch considering he was holding Max’s hand, something his parents made all the older siblings promise to do when they were outside with him for protective reasons. And obviously as a doting big brother, Alec did not mind in the slightest and enjoyed the constant vomit of words Max spout like a never ending chain of dominos. He silently wondered where children got their energy from since their bodies were so small in comparison.

Trekking the paths of stalls and shops easily for the people bowed out of their way for the leaders of their country, Alec caught himself staring at a newly crafted bow, sturdy yet beautiful and accompanied with a handful of sleek arrows that were sharpened thinner than the tip of the blade he currently held. Without realising the trance he was engrossed in, Alec neglected to notice the lack of warmth in his left hand where it was now vacant of Max’s.

Immediately, Alec snapped his eyes at every inch surrounding him turning to the guards who were as useless as him with failing to acknowledge the young prince’s absence and he couldn’t afford himself to be angry with them since he was as much to blame so he gave out firm orders to find him while he searched with strenuous effort himself. It seemed too soon to alert the fellow officers about Max’s disappearance since it would merely cause uproar when it had only just been a minute or two- Alec wanted to trust in both himself and Max that he would be able to find him promptly.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and half shouted-half whispered out (in order not to alert everyone) Max’s name into the crowd of bustling people on that Thursday evening, the night sky slowly creeping behind the cumulus clouds. Even though screaming Max’s name at the top of his lungs may have been a more effective way of attracting his attention, Alec couldn’t risk the panic that could potentially occur- and the amount of trouble he would get into if everyone found out that he lost his little brother. He was confident in being able to locate him, but Alec internally pondered on dangerous possibilities of kidnappings; what if someone was hurting Max right now? What if his limbs were bound and his mouth gagged, blindfolded, ripped away of all senses to call out for help? Trepidation lacing his grey irises, black pupils shaped like dots, eyes wet with apprehensive tears-

“Oh thank the Angels, and God and the fucking stars,” Alec muttered under his breath when his eyes caught sight of familiar tresses of brown hair through a glass window, messy and dark like his own, untameable even when fought against the most expensive combs and gel.

A ripple of relief thrummed through his veins when Alec entered the bakery, his arrival announced by a bell at the top of the door: _di-ding!_ The instant saccharine aroma of the place whacked the prince’s senses, sweet crumbly pastries with fresh cream between the crisp layers and loaves of oven-baked bread that could be used for savoury or sweet dinners. Alec didn’t realise how hungry he was until now when his stomach helplessly growled for a single taste of the vanilla sponge cake to his right despite him not having the largest sweet tooth. This bakery spoke to him in more ways than one.

There was only one customer other than Max; not counting the man behind the counter wearing such a prominent scowl that Alec thought he might have been born that way. He straightened his shoulders, nodding to the frowning owner and made his way over to his little brother deciding that the scolding could wait until later they were back at home safe. But when he beckoned closer to Max, Alec saw that he was talking to someone who had crouched down to level their gaze with him, their shoulders so broad they creased the fitted jacket decorated with epaulets, which only reinforced their muscled width. Alec’s thoughts leaned on the edge of taboo as he imagined what the rest of the body would look like when he realised exactly who it was.

“It’s blueberry flavoured,” Magnus said in a rather singsong kind of manner, holding a white cardboard box consisting of circular goods. “Do you like it?”

Max nodded animatedly, crumbs littering his face as he held a violet coloured layered biscuit. “Yeah! It’s sour but it’s sweet at the same time- oh it’s Alec!”

Alec fought the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation at Max’s casual demeanour, totally clueless about the previous concern he felt for him about his sudden absence. He figured it was just another attribute to being a young child but that didn’t make it any less of an annoyance. While Max skipped over to Alec in an oblivious motif, Magnus stretched himself up to his normal height and twirled on the heel of his pointed boots at a precise fixed angle like he was enacting the motion of a door’s hinge. His cheeks shone with gold glitter and lips painted a dark burgundy, the type that Isabelle loved to wear.

“Prince Alexander, what a lovely coincidence, “ Magnus inclined his head reverently, immaculately styled hair streaked with a light pink that Alec noted suited him perfectly. “I take it you’re not here for a biscuit.” His shiny eyes ran along to Max in implication of his statement.

With a stuttered nod, Alec planted his palms on Max’s shoulders. “Y-yeah, this little one- _Max_ is my brother, the youngest Prince of Idris and uh…”

“And he’s nine years old and wears glasses?” Magnus added with a tease, his lips quirking playfully at the corner in light of the situation that Alec thought to be disastrous at first. There was an air around Magnus that cleared away the negativity around him, like purification.

With a light blush, Alec ignored Max’s wondering owlish eyes blinking up at him and said. “I um, I’m rambling- I’m sorry.”

Magnus shook his head shortly with an amused sound. “Don’t be, Prince Alexander. It’s rather _endearing_.”

The blush streaking Alec’s face deepened into scarlet blotches, the tips of his ears dyed red while Magnus’ words replayed in his head like a perpetual jingle. Compliments weren’t a rare occurrence for Alec but he had always dealt with them dismissively for the participant never intrigued him for a further interaction, for those suggestive words to lead onto something more. As a prince, he had attended more balls than necessary, danced with many maidens whose hands were too feeble and words too reserved to awaken anything deep within him. It was safe to say that Alec had never really felt attraction towards any women he had ever met, but that didn’t cover the whole meaning of people though. That sort of interest was one he had to conceal under a lock and key and cage for it was the kind of forbidden secret that would shame his own honour and familly. It was wrong for a to-be King to feel such feelings so he subdued them, maintained them hidden in the privacy of his mind but right now, standing in front of this man in a sweet bakery, Alec felt bare and exposed and open and he didn’t know what to do. What _could_ he do but fall deeper into that lone abyss?

“I’m running a business not a mother’s meeting,” The owner growled from the front of the shop, monotonous and bored, which gave Alec a pass for replying to Magnus because God knew he had no idea what to say.

Magnus chuckled, flicking his fingers towards the speaker. “Oh dear Raphael, it would run a lot more smoother if you turned that little petulant frown of yours upside down.”

“That’s a price you can’t afford,” Raphael replied curtly but there lacked any permanent edge to his voice portraying the easy-going friendship between the two. “Now either buy something or get out- and the same go for you Princes- _please_.”

Raphael’s addition of manners only caused Magnus to laugh harder as he dramatically wiped away phantom tears from his kohl lined eyes, twirling back to face Alec with an easy smile, cheeks a little flushed. “We go back, me and Raphael, but please don’t let his lack of diplomacy deter you from his baked goods. His mouth may be sour but those cakes are deliciously sweet.”

“Yeah it’s really tasty, Alec!” Max agreed, hands and face messy from eating a dessert as he jumped on the balls of his feet to illustrate his zeal. “Can I get some for home? Please, please.”

Alec patted his little brother’s head absently, looking at Magnus who smiled gently as Max’s response. “I’ll trust your judgement on that, Magnus…Maybe you could, you know uh recommend something to me- at a later time… just the two of us?”

A concoction of hyperbolic eyebrow rising, confusion and incredulity unravelled through Magnus’ expression during Alec’s attempt of setting up a date for the both of them. The bakery was silent, Raphael looking impossibly bored and Max humming to himself while he licked sugar off his fingers. However Alec and Magnus stared at each other, eyes to eyes, before Magnus cracked and began to sprinkle his amiable chuckle everywhere, the melodic pitch bouncing off the enveloping walls delightfully and refreshingly. Like drinking a glass of water on a blistering hot day.

“Me, all alone with you, Prince Alexander?”

Alec nodded quickly, his voice rather breathless. “Yeah… Just you and me.”

“A commoner and royalty, huh? Reminds me of a tragedy,” Magnus mused, playing with his ear cuff while Alec felt a flush rush through him at the impending rejection. He wondered what on earth spurred on that sudden urge to invite him somewhere, to set up a meeting with just the two of them alone without taking into account all the consequences that came with it.

“But it sounds fun. I think I’d like that, Prince Alexander,” Magnus finished off, bashfully peering at Alec through his thick lashes, wearing such a lascivious smile that contrasted with the entire mien and it left the taller man with an erratic heartbeat and clammy hands.

Although everything only heightened when Magnus outstretched his arm, jacket rippling from the muscle contraction and fingers decorated by many rings that ever so softly, like an angle’s feather, stroked Alec’s right cheek twice. “Although you have something here, Prince Alexander. Ink perhaps?”

During those limited seconds that Magnus’s fingertips were on his skin, Alec felt nice, aware of the inexperienced action inflicted upon him but it was pleasant nevertheless until he absorbed the content of Magnus’ words and gaped. Alec began to stammer about how he was doing some studying, cognisant of Max laughing at him at the stain on his face that he himself neglected to inform him about. Thank you very much, little brother, Alec knew he could count on you.

“Don’t worry, let’s just call it another endearing feat of yours, Prince Alexander.”

“Okay?”

“Okay!” Magnus confirmed in a chirpy hum.

Soon after they made strict arrangements for a later date to sync both their schedules, Max was tugging on his leg and begging that they buy a treat before he collapsed, an exaggeration on his part. The farewell was brief, not without Magnus granting Max one last pastry, teasing Raphael and sending a fond smile down Alec’s direction.

“You know you still have that ink on your face- Prince Alec, _please_ and _thank you_ ,” Raphael pointed out in a badly concealed sneer.

Alec refused to admit to anyone else outside of that bakery that he bought a ton of cakes and biscuits with a hand plastered adamantly against his cheek. Some people found it strange that the amount of respect individuals gave the eldest prince was not enough considering his status but it was all to blame for the humiliation his brothers and sister put him through that caused Alec to build up an unapproachable yet friendly connection with the people of Idris. Both the princes and princess of Idris were well-respected with an air of amicability around their people, and though the same couldn’t be claimed for the king and queen, it made the younger ones’ lives easier when they wished to do menial tasks such as shopping or eating out. Alec didn’t mind but it made it difficult for his non-gregarious nature, which suffered when those around him thought him to be otherwise. At least it made conversing with a certain someone easy.

The next couple of days were nothing out of routine for Alec as he just came back from patrol with Jace, on the way to bathe and ready himself for the private evening he was to have with Magnus. They were to have dinner and then a nightly stroll in the public forestland that was gratefully scarce of beings near the end of the day considering the superstitions of the witches. Alec noted how Magnus didn’t seem to mind in the slightest when he had suggested it, which only reinforced his goal of being able to express his controversial opinion on the entire subject surrounding the witches.

However when he arrived to his private quarters, Alec found Raj standing by the door with a scroll of parchment tucked under his arm. “What is it, Raj? I’m busy.”

“I’m sure you can free that ever so _busy_ schedule of yours, one that might I say seems to neglect the paperwork for next weeks’ council meeting- for a visit to the King,” Raj interceded, one of his hands going to the door knob to disable Alec from simply slamming the door on him. “He wishes to discuss an important matter with you.”

“Well I’m sure it can wait for another time. I have plans so tell Jace or Izzy to go-”

Raj shifted his foot forward defiantly. “The King said it would not take long and Prince, I’m sure you know better than to defy Your Majesty without explaining it to his face. This attitude of yours has got to stop, take responsibility and go see the King.”

And when Raj didn’t move from his stance, Alec rolled his eyes petulantly and dragged his feet along the carpet to his destination wanting nothing more than to envelop himself in a basin of hot water to ease muscle tension after the patrol outside. It wasn’t that today was an eventful day; just that Alec was admittedly looking forward to spending time with Magnus and wished to merely drown himself in those kinds of thoughts until it actually happened instead of having to see the King.

The extravagant set of golden trimmed doors was engraved with the famous words: “ _Sed Lex Dura Lex_.” It was a phrase that Idris lived by, a saying supported by providence and therefore to be obeyed not one to be bent or undermined. It was a line that sang throughout the acres of Idris during the burnings and hangings of the witches to reiterate the royalty’s conviction of purging those unworthy of God. Alec found it left a rather bitter aftertaste.

The guards positioned at the front saluted him in respect and Alec just groaned quietly before he knocked and entered the monarchy’s study. It was a large room, spanning over the land of at least three houses collectively put together and the floor concrete white marble, only the best for the Crown. The windows were stained with religious imagery of a cup, sword and mirror and scriptures except for the centre one which allowed the leader to overlook their country secretly. Aging and ancient books lined the walls seated in exquisite wood shaped bookshelves that was made out of more durable material than some houses the people inhabited, but the King had to have the best. At the top of the room lay a throne, akin to the one in the banquet hall but this one accommodated more for comfort rather than ostentatiousness as implied by the fluffier lined pillow on the bottom that currently supported a balding man with a dark look that greatly contrasted with the light blue hue of his eyes.

“Father,” Alec said into the air, bowing once before him with strong shoulders rolled back and a head held up high like Raj advised him to stand in front of respected members.

Robert tapped his desk. “Alec. It graves me to know that I have not laid eyes on you for a while.”

Alec stiffened underneath the gaze of his father, King Robert and attempted to subdue the creeping discomfort coiling in his abdomen but found it was difficult to do when he was not accompanied with someone else. He always tried to visit Robert in the company of his one of his siblings or Raj since it diluted the latent tension in the atmosphere but now Alec was all by his lonesome, unkempt hair, ruffled clothes and dirty boots. The Queen would skin him to the bone with her vindictive vocabulary if she saw the state he was in.

“Apologies, Your Majesty. I’ve been busy with missions, I’ll make it up to you.”

The King hummed. “I take it that you’re ready for the seasonal Lustrate for all these _missions_ you’ve been on.”

“Yes,” Alec grit out of his clenched jaw, mind reeling back to the books he spent the past few weeks reading about the unjust treatment of witches. “Everything will be prepared without any impediments.”

“Good,” King Robert said frankly, leaning forward on his throne and planting his chin on his interlaced fingers standing atop of the desk. “I called for your presence because my scouts, or _scout_ I should correct arrived this morning with rather dire news. As you know, the Circle organisation was subjugated eighteen years ago but now, intel claims that there are suspicions of an imminent uprising. The threat of the Circle is no jest; they are damned witches who have killed many of our own.

“So Alec, I want to trust you as leader of this operation to hunt these abominations down for their sins. May the Angels bless you on this duty of purification.”

                  The Circle were a subversive group that were active when Alec was too young to recall any of the important details, only that he was always in a safe house since the royalty were mainly targeted. Their Marxists beliefs were evidently opposed by the Clave and regal members so many precautions were put in place after the uprising to ensure that nothing like that happened again considering the high death toll of innocents. They were made up of a band of witches and the reason why the burnings currently took place since the threat of another attempted revolution frightened and angered everyone. The decrease in the witch’s population ensured peace and safety for the Kingdom, the reason why Alec wielded a sword but now- right now he wasn’t too sure how everything made sense anymore.

                  Alec wanted nothing more than to refuse the position his father put him, knowing that it would only veer him to murder more witches- people. To dirty his hands with blood and screams of the dead. But he just bowed his head, jaw clenched. “Thank you for the opportunity, Your Majesty. I will not let you down.”

                  With a satisfied hum, the King studied his son. “Are you busy this afternoon, Alec?”

                  “Yes,” Alec said swiftly, realising that his eagerness towards that subject leaned on the edge of suspicion. “I mean, yes. I have my priorities.”

                  King Robert gave a bark of laughter. “You know, my son. I’ve had my fair share of mistresses to know when it is about one. Tell me, how does she fare?”

                  Heat thrummed through Alec’s veins, blood hot and ears dipped red. Images of glitter and smiling pink lips caught his attention as the frame of defined muscles enraptured him like a bone-crushing hug. It spoke to him of beauty and strength and downright trouble.

                  “The fairest one, father. I’ve never come across such a captivating soul, inside and out,” Alec said breathlessly, shocking himself with the litter of words running out of his mouth but it seemed irrationality took over when he thought of Magnus.

                  “Be careful there, Alec. Love is a dangerous thing; some may even claim it to be the work of witches. Do be wary of those around you. There’s no going back once you fall under the devil’s curse.”

 

***

Part Two

 

Since Alec was a prince, his arrival was unprecedented in “ _Hunter’s Moon,”_ a pub that commoners frequented so he expected the silence that washed over the place when he entered, cheeks hot at the outward attention of wide eyes and collective whispers. He ducked his head underneath the dark nest resting on his forehead, damp and curling from the quick shower he had just drowned in before plastering himself with fresh clothes that felt strangely out of place for such a public place. Perhaps he should loosen his tie.

                  After claiming a booth at the back of the space and buying two drinks, Alec absently played with his eyebrow scar and forced his mind to wonder to places other than the conversation he had with the King. To take the lead in such a dangerous operation that he was doubtful about sat uneasily in his stomach, heavy like the weight of a thousand tonnes of iron. Were the witches really to blame for all the imperfections in Idris’ society? Alec was unsure but he figured that this time with Magnus would be one that will hopefully give way to clarity on that subject given that he assumed correctly about the man’s beliefs. If he knew someone else that thought alongside the same lines as him, then maybe Alec wasn’t going insane about thinking that the very foundation he followed his entire life held more to it than what it presented on the surface.

                  It was evidently odd for Alec to admit that even after considering discussing the matter with his siblings, he still turned to preferring to tell Magnus- a complete, mysterious stranger who looked like he knew all the answers to the questions one would never ask. There was something about Magnus, for Alec, he felt an inexplicable connection between them the instance that they had met. Something akin to a bond you would have with a contemporary, but different, and more.

                  “Is this seat taken?”

                  “Ah, yes I’m waiting- Magnus!” Alec exclaimed when he observed the man boring his gaze upon him, a teasing smile curved into his face.

                  Magnus chuckled, black painted manicured nails tapping on the table. “Present.”

                  “I uh- you look- look beau- I mean good. Very _debonair_ ,” Alec’s tongue tripped over itself, as his mind whizzed with a splurge of words he wished to say when he took in Magnus’ appearance.

                  From the little amount of times Alec had encountered Magnus, he had already come to the conclusion that his fashion sense was unorthodox for a male of their time to say the least. His eyelids were dusted his a baby pink, hair streaked with white and cheeks as shinier and brighter than the sun that complemented his smooth bronze skin. A skitter of facial hair made up an immature anchor, light but noticeable especially under the harsh light of the pub that Magnus seemed to bask beautifully in somehow.

                  The recipient blinked rosy coloured lids before littering the air with an airy laugh, hand coming to cup his mouth and rendering his glittery black suit jacket to crease under the pressure of the pivot of his biceps against the seams of the material, _tight_ , and Alec followed every wrinkle like a hawk. “Debonair? I can honestly recall no one to describe me in quite a way, thank you. You look rather fetching yourself, Prince Alexander, so perhaps your intentions for this date is congruous to my own.”

                  He wanted it to be. Alec yearned to establish that this meeting he planned had not only the aim of him relinquishing the burden of his secret but of simply wanting to learn more about the man, to read into those kohl lined brown eyes, masked with a titillating linger that would have perhaps deterred most for the forwardness of the action, but surprisingly it wasn’t the case for Alec. He wanted to see beyond that sensual tilt to Magnus’ walk accompanied with heeled boots that alerted everyone of his presence, footsteps that played an oeuvre not yet orchestrated.

                  Without waiting for Alec stutter out a reply that would only deepen the blush dotting his cheeks, Magnus sat next to him in their small private alcove of the pub, people drinking and talking loudly amongst them while they lived out their life with alcohol breath. They were seated next to each other, close enough that Alec could acknowledge Magnus’ presence but they weren’t touching in the slightest. No brush of arm to arm or thigh to thigh, just a simply amiable distance and that was warranted but who knew where that night would take them?

                  “How is Madzie doing?” Alec asked conversationally, his lips pressed against the rim of his glass that reeked of alcohol he disliked, the hot whorl feeling in the pit of his stomach when he drank it proving to be rather uncomfortable like the first time he had consumed it; a time that he and Jace had snuck a bottle under their jackets and drank in the dungeons.

                  However Magnus appeared to be someone who was not new or shied away from such beverages as he expertly gulped a considerable amount leisurely, portraying his irrefutable experience with it so Alec willed the disgust not to crease his expression while he tried to do the same. As a prince, Alec had to be able to tolerate even when it came to whimsical things like alcohol.

                  “Madzie is doing well, very well in fact. She seems to have developed an affinity for cold ice chocolate rather than hot chocolate,” Magnus informed fondly, swirling the remains of his drink absently. “I’m sure you can imagine how dubious I feel when I must freeze chocolate bars to an ice block.”

                  Alec couldn’t subdue the consequent upturned line of a smile imprinting his face, jaw stretching and lips ajar to present teeth. A smile that he tended to bite down on the inside of his cheeks to conceal from stranger’s eyes for the redundant insecurity that followed was not scarce. He blamed it on regal practices he was taught forever ago; to not portray excess emotion as it could be a means to be used against you. So Alec quickly swallowed his grin with a swig of alcohol, the burn melting away the positive emotion he starved himself of. If Alec noticed, which he did, the way Magnus’ eyebrows raised warily at the way the prince moderated his emotions, he didn’t choose to comment on it. He had just met the man; there was no reason to confess how much of an effect he had on him. Good things came to those who wait.

                  “I’m glad,” Alec inclined his head rather politely. “I am still extremely apologetic about the erroneous arousal of suspicion around Madzie’s identity.”

                  Magnus waved a ring-enveloped hand, a bracelet chain connected to the thick band on his index clattering like the _chinks_ of falling glass. “Do not concern yourself with that, Prince Alexander. That is all water under the bridge, is it not?”

                  “Yes,” Alec said with clandestine uncertainty at the way Magnus phrased the question as non-rhetoric, but he shrugged and pegged it on Magnus’ articulation. “Of course.”

                  While Magnus returned with a replenishment of drinks, Alec fought to down the rest of his own before he arrived and distracted himself with thoughts on what exactly this was. To disregard his instant attraction towards Magnus seemed rather superfluous when he caught himself stammering just by the sight of him. It was clear from that that Magnus meant something. Alec toyed with ideas on what, allowing the cove of his mind to wander and dawdle on surreptitious paths that involved naked touches and sweat and heat. If this was all just a mere physical attraction then perhaps the prince should refrain from spilling out his gut about his personal opinions surrounding the witches because if it would be nothing more, then today would be just it.

                  But the cadence of Magnus’ laugh echoed in his mind, light and airy like he was holding back from usual laughter of rapturing vessels and snorting. Alec wanted to be someone Magnus would feel comfortable with enough to giggle and chortle like that, completely bare and forever open like a book whose spine was weathered. He liked that Magnus joked, teased and mocked him as if they had been friends longer than the weeks they knew each other. And the way Magnus fluttered his fingers and manoeuvred his limbs in such a motif that captivated Alec to drone out the rest of the world.

                  It was unnerving, _scary_ how intense Alec felt towards Magnus. His mind couldn’t help travelling back to the reason being because he was bewitched, drank a love potion and fallen under the curse his father warned him of. But Alec didn’t feel any different; his mind was his own as was his body so why did he seem to be losing control, ounce by ounce when in Magnus’ presence?

                  When Magnus took back his seat next to Alec, he played absently with his ear cuff as the prince next to him glared darkly at the almost empty glass in his hands.

                  “Prince Alexander, I hope that my jest from earlier did not perturb you in any way,” Magnus said into the silence of their booth, the only quiet section of the lively pub. “My friends have warned me that my tongue has a mind of its own. I only wished this to be a good time, between acquaintances and such.”

                  Alec snapped his head towards Magnus so fast that he was sure to get a whiplash, his neck craned to be granted a thorough observation of the reclined stance Magnus had took, leaning into himself as if he were swimming with discomfort. That was a sight that surprised Alec and most definitely disturbed him and he raked his head for methods of reversing it altogether. He hadn’t noticed that Magnus had come back, only catching his presence when he had began to talk so it was no exaggeration on Magnus’ part that he thought things were a tad awkward. But Alec didn’t think so and wanted to reassure Magnus the same.

                  “Magnus… I’m a prince who lacks the social disposition of one,” Alec admitted aloud, unsure of exactly where he was going but Magnus was holding his gaze as a means of relaying that he was listening so he carried on. “I function more effectively on my own and that hardly seems like a feat of one destined to rule an entire country…But I think what I’m trying to say is um- the fact that I approached you, out of my own will and mind- it’s an example of me really wanting something. That I really wanted this… _and_ you.”

                  Magnus let out an audible breath. “Okay.”

                  “Okay?”

                  Magnus made a motion that he was going to elaborate: “That was certainly enlightening,” he simply commented, quirking his lips into a genuine smile, one that made the gold in his brown eyes twinkle underneath the harsh lights. “Thank you, Prince Alexander.”

                  Even though Magnus’ words were brief and on the semblance rather meaningless, Alec relished in the way his body was now lax in his seat and how Magnus had inched just that little bit closer to him. It was strange that Alec was the one who had talked the most in that moment for it was always the other way around but it was nice like this, being able to witness the reaction the little speech had on the recipient. The glitter dusting Magnus’ cheeks danced brilliantly with the light shade of pink dying them making him almost illuminate like a dimmed out star and Alec wondered whether anyone else in the area could see what he was seeing right now. Something bright and blinding and _different_.

                  Alec gripped his glass tightly in his hands. “You can drop that formality, if you would like.”

                  “Hm?”

                  “Uh, the whole ‘prince’ title,” Alec mumbled, tearing his eyes from the sweet confusion lining Magnus’ face in a light pout of lips. “Call me what you will. Alec or something…”

                  Magnus made a positive sound of affirmation, eye twinkling and cheeks shimmering. “Then, _Alexander_. How does that sound?” He rolled the noun off his tongue like a purr, stretching out the syllables in a lingering fashion that painted the air around them with countless suggestions.

                  “P-perfect,” Alec conceded, attempting to cover up the effect of the wanton tint of the utterance of his full name. It was safe to say no had called him in such a way.

                  The different collection of conversations that ensued had Alec surprisingly engaged, his words leaving his lips as quick as he thought of them and amiable laughter filling in the gaps. He was shocked at the lack of effort it stole off him to interact with Magnus, his unsociable nature inverted for the evening. But then again, no one could _not_ converse with Magnus, chase for ways to make him laugh and laugh in response with the animated flourishes of his hands, notice how his hands spoke as loud as his voice and appreciate the shine of rings against the overhead lights.

                  People clambered out of the pub constantly while many piled back in, its lively atmosphere never halting even when advancing deep into the night. When Magnus had finished a story about an adventure in Peru, laughter dying out like water to the flame, the heat remained, as did the companionable ambiance. As Alec toyed with his own hair, he wondered whether it would be an appropriate time to bring up the issue he had been yearning to discuss. Things were going incredibly well so it was no surprise when Alec decided to do just that.

                  “Apologies if this is imprudent of me, Magnus,” Alec lingered on the continuation of his sentence, only reassured by Magnus motioning him to carry on with a characteristic wave of his hand. “Ah well, then what are your thoughts on witches?”

                  In an instant of completing the words, Magnus noticeably stiffened in his seat and cleared his throat to somewhat diffuse the now stuffy air. He had downed the remaining droplets of his drink and was now gazing in the bottomless put of the cup before turning towards Alec, a discreet layer of caution that went unseen by most on show. “Why do you ask?”

                  Alec would be lying to say he hadn’t realised the creeping tension dropping gradually into the atmosphere and the way Magnus had become just that slightly bit more reclusive, a shell of his stance from the beginning of the date. It was credible to note that it was because of the subject change but he had merely stepped over the first milestone and the sudden thrum of confidence for persisting the conversation was prone to be because of the alcohol, for Alec simply carried on.

                  “I’ve been thinking, researching and based on what you said at our first meeting…the ambiguity surrounding the purge of witches deserves scrutiny.”

                  Magnus placed his glass down and though it made no sound, it was a deafening move. “I don’t advise it is well to discuss such a controversial matter with someone like me. We haven’t known each long nor am I a blood-relative, is this wise, Alexander? That you place such trusts in me?”

                  “It isn’t,” Alec expressed earnestly, definite and sure. “It is not wise or precedent of me to trust someone so quickly, given my position but with you. I don’t know why, but I trust you.”

                  The silence that met with his confession was enough to deter Alec. There were moments when one would leave the other speechless, like Jace would do to maidens and Isabelle to damoiseaus but in this case for Alec it was done for all the wrong reasons. He observed the taut knots burdening Magnus’ shoulders; blind and dumb to wonder why he was affected by it. All that centred in his mind was a way to get rid of it.

                  “I’m sorry,” Alec apologised heartedly, quickly. “I was acting intrusive and overbearing-“

                  “Perhaps discourse about this subject can wait until it is absent of prying eyes and ears,” Magnus interrupted though not unkindly, his words only making Alec realise that they were in fact in a very public place. “It is rather late and I should be getting back.”

                  Deflating into a slump on his seat, Alec lamented on his decision. In hindsight, he regretted ever bringing the topic up since the comfortable bond that had built between them was muddy with impurities now that he had gone and ruined it. But as he reviewed Magnus’ words, his mind hung onto one in particular. “ _Wait_.” It had to be an indication that Magnus was not completely deterred, that he wished to continue whatever they had.

                  On the basis of insinuations, Alec straightened his shoulders. “If it is not so brazen of me, I would like to plan another arrangement with you, Magnus.”         

                  There was clear uncertainty lining Magnus’ features and Alec wiled it not to impact him so negatively. All in all, Alec had enjoyed himself and was glad to be in company of someone like Magnus despite how fleeting it would be. At the very least he had had fun, something Alec didn’t know he could be experiencing at such an age and status so even though he absolutely didn’t want this to be the last time they interact, the prince would have to respect his choice.

                  “Do you recall the pathway to my house?” Magnus asked casually as if there was no ounce of hesitation lacing his tone.

                  Alec blanched. “I-I do.”

                  Magnus gave a small smile, one that didn’t light the gold in his eyes but left Alec breathless nevertheless. “Then, if you wish, I will prepare dinner at seven on Monday. I presume you have no allergies?”

                  “Nought,” Alec’s mouth felt dry and his hands were clammy but his heart was racing with the unexpected outcome. “I-thank you, Magnus. I will be looking forward to it.”

                  “Likewise,” Magnus bowed respectfully, his voice lighter though amount of words brisk. “Farewell, Alexander.”

                  Alec watched as Magnus tapped out of the pub, his heeled boots sounding his footsteps throughout the place like it filled in for the absence of music thought he doubted anyone else concentrated on it considering the continuous chatter. He had made a mistake, revealing his inquisitive nature towards the witch burnings and though it rendered Magnus uncomfortable, the pretty man was still up for a more private meeting. Even though the night had ended a little less joyous than its peak, Alec couldn’t deny the increasing bundle of feelings building and on his walk back to the castle he felt as light as a thousand feathers.

 

***

Magnus couldn’t, he couldn’t, he can’t.

                  The night walk back to his house cooled off the furling bundle of feelings and confusing thoughts activated by the evening he shared with the eldest prince of Idris. Though it was inevitably awkward at first given their brief interactions and conflicting statuses, the date had moulded into one of amiable comfort that Magnus couldn’t wholly peg on his exhibitionist nature. It was a collective participation that he yearned to have more of now that he had a taste of it.

Perhaps he had agreed to the meeting because he was bored with his routine of helping out Catarina with medicine and seeing magical clients with oh so very troubling issues, tiresome of waking up to the same noon light and sleeping to the same bird calls. Magnus agreed because he was itching for something new, yes but there was no overlooking the inkling prompt of intrigue that came with Alec. The way the taller man stammered, eyes lighting up and mouth crinkling in the presence of his little brother, his façade crumbling like rubber shavings when he choked up over something Magnus had said and the way his hazel eyes lingered on his, masked with clandestine emotions no one had the pleasure of seeing.

                  Secrets were magic that not even a warlock of Magnus’ calibre could subjugate.

                  He shut the door behind him inaudibly, cautious of not wanting to wake up Madzie or Catarina who were fast asleep in their bedrooms. However all that careful tip toing proved to be void when Magnus unceremoniously yelped at the sudden corporeal intrusion, uncharacteristically stumbling over the heeled boot he was in the midst of removing and slamming against the front door when he caught his breath.

                  “Is this a new welcoming mannerism? How long have I been gone?”

                  With a flick of his wrist, light poured into the house drowning out the previous darkness and Magnus slapped his one bare foot on the ground, hands on hips. “Pot meet kettle. When has it ever been a customary to break into one’s house? I was under the impression that the English were gentlemen.”

                  “Only when it matters,” Ragnor Fell replied with a grin, the positive expression breaking the false vehemence in the air as the friends broke pretence and finally joined each other in a fond embrace.

                  “How long are you planning on staying?’ Magnus asked when they sat on the sofa, drinks in hand and speaking in a hushed voices so not to perturb the comatose beings upstairs- provided that they hadn’t already awaken from Magnus’ earlier verbal fiasco.

                  Ragnor gave a bark of laughter. “I just got here, travelled through icy winds, cuddled myself for warmth on sleepless nights, drank the sap of trees for hydration to do so and you are already pondering on my leave. You wound me, Magnus.” When Magnus wore a deadpanned expression albeit the corner of his mouth twitching from mirth, Ragnor chuckled again and stole a swig of his alcohol. “It will not be for long however I cannot sincerely state that I haven’t missed companionship in my lone life back at home. Little Madzie has grown tremendously since the last that I saw her. You have done remarkably well.”

                  Magnus smiled softly, eyes peering at the staircase where her room was down the hall. “Madzie was tenacious from the start and continues to surprise me everyday, besides I can’t hog all the credit. Cat has been the rock we have all needed ever since _then_.”

                  “Dearest Catarina,” Ragnor mused with a lilt of his lips. “Now _that_ is a woman who will forever surprise me with the augmented intensity of insults she bestows upon our every reconciliation. It was ‘ _Satan’s greatest pompous, horn-headed spawn’_ this time.”

                  Magnus leant back into the pillows, petting Chairman Meow with his free hand languidly. “I see she has yet to forgive you for-“

                  “Never mind that,” Ragnor cut in curtly, hindering the recollection of his supposed mistake that only made Magnus snort into his drink. “So. How do you do?”

                  With careful inconspicuousness, Magnus’ expression didn’t mould into one that would entail all his inner feelings on a silver platter, ready for the vultures to slaughter and devour. Not that Ragnor was anything of the type to offensively mock him; he was his oldest friend, the rock that was situated at his back, ready to catch him when he fell. Or Catarina who stood at his right and Raphael to his left, Magnus was loved and protected so there was no reason why he should not have been able to relay his true emotions. But it was a tiresome action to hammer at the walls of his mind, body and soul, too much effort and time that he couldn’t bear to shoulder his loved ones with. It was heavy enough all on his own.

                  “Just the tasteless usual,” Magnus said in a bored tone, waving his hand with a lack of zest. “Can’t prance the streets without having a witch burning pamphlet shoved in my face and they no longer stock my favourite quartz polish.”

                  “Uh huh,” Ragnor hummed illicitly, a glint shimmering in his eyes that wasn’t present before. “Where were you all evening?”

                  Magnus moved to inhale a long sip of his drink before realising that his glass was empty, not a single droplet left. “Shopping.”

                  “At this hour?” Ragnor interrogated persistently, inching towards his friend as if to make him feel that little more caged in order to make him spill.

                  “-And drinking. I hardly grasp that as an open invitation for an investigation.”

                  Ragnor stared expectantly at Magnus for a moment and then leant back into the cushioned sofa. “Of course not…unless you were accompanied by someone else…”

                  There was no denying that Ragnor was arduously going to insist and push at him until Magnus gave in and practically spelled out the entire truth of his rather eventful evening. He could perceive the concealment of Ragnor knowing more than he was letting on what with the smirk he was currently supporting, mockingly smiling at him over the rim of his almost empty glass. That conniving little shit.  

                  Instead of plainly revealing everything, Magnus tugged himself off the sofa gracefully to pluck another bottle and refill their drinks. “How were you made aware of the fact that I was not alone?”

                  “Oh, Magnus. I’m the oldest, most powerful warlock you know. The utter simplicity of being cognisant of such a fact is nothing strenuous for me to find out.” Ragnor scoffed matter-of-factly before mumbling into his glass. “…And Catarina told me.”

                  “Of course she did,” Magnus rolled his eyes elegantly, pink eye shadow dimmed by the length of time he had been wearing it. There was no point in reapplying it for he had planned to rest his weary bones and sleep the old night away until Ragnor had unexpectedly intruded. “Well, believe what you will but Prince Alexander is not what one would expect from Idris royalty.”

                  Ragnor raised his eyebrows, his glamoured horns appearing momentarily for dramatic effect. “Considering the only royalty acquaintance is your father, I would hope this prince was nothing like him- wait, Catarina neglected to inform me that the man you went out on a date with was a prince of Idris! Oh for the love of- Magnus, you presumptuous Lothario.”

                  The grim comment about Magnus’ father was one he decided to ignore for memories linked with that man only created whirls of eternal despondency, fleeting hope of what could have been. Magnus just waved his hands as if attempting to swat an invisible fly. “In my defence, dear Alexander approached me…albeit with a prompt but that doesn’t matter. Ragnor, there is something enigmatic about this man. He’s different.”

                  “The last time I listened to you ruminate along similar lines about another, I was picking up the broken pieces of your heart a moment too soon,” Ragnor said not unkindly no matter how harsh the words may have seemed to say to one so secretly hopeful for something. “Look Magnus, as someone who cares deeply for you, promise me you will not let this get out of hand.”

                  Promises could be made and later broken, something that Magnus was all too accustomed to throughout his centuries on Earth. He had met thousands upon thousands of people, shared fellow warmth only to share the cold when they left him without turning back to make a promise of returning. Magnus was not alone, but he felt so painfully lonely. The feeling struck him sometimes in the private cove of his bedroom, his feet tangled in the covers and eyes wide open, waiting for something that was never going to come. Perhaps it had to do with him not exactly knowing what he was waiting for. In any case it left Magnus swallowing rocks and biting back sobs that fought to rack his ribs, to wail, to scream in catharsis, to _feel_.

                  Magnus shook his head theatrically as a way to shake away his thoughts, turning on his feet so his face was out of sight of his friend when he talked. “He’s a witch burning boy wearing men’s clothing, Ragnor. I can take care of myself, besides there’s no harm in merely partaking in a little fun... More wine?”

                  “We’ll both die from alcohol poisoning at this rate… Of course I want more.”

 

***

The mirror in the prince’s bedroom was large, exquisite and unnecessary for Alec rarely used it in comparison to Isabelle or Jace, whom both spent more time speculating their beauty and blemishes than was typically healthy. He was always the brooding, gangly introvert that presented incongruity against the rest of his family in terms of maintenance. His hair was a scruff of dark keratin, unkempt and untamed along with his seemingly underwhelming sense of style. Alec had just never been one to consider physiology as a significant asset in life- at least not until he met Magnus Bane who was in his opinion, the epitome of aestheticism, in regards to the movement.

                  He straightened out the collar of his crisp black shirt buttoned up to his neck therefore leaving no sort of provocative exposure considering the thought would have never crossed Alec’s oblivious mind. There were quite a few things in life that seemed to go on over his head like it had never been said or done and it caused a few laughs in the process, but Alec wasn’t one to goad or persist on such matters so usually he remained silent throughout it all. Although he was now just realising his inexperience, especially in comparison to his siblings and especially since he was the oldest- surely that alluded to the fact that he should be the most knowledgeable in such subjects?

                  “Hey Alec, I thought we could go out to dinner- wait, what’s all this?”

                  Isabelle was clad in an elegant pink dress, her hair pinned up immaculately, drawing attention to her striking facial features. She was barefoot when her eyes ran across the room to observe the accumulation of jettisoned clothes and her eldest brother, a vision of a immobile plank of flesh in front of the mirror that bore the only reason for it’s non-dusty appearance because of Alec’s neglect because the maids cleaned it.

                  Alec’s throat relinquished a strange gurgle and his ears burned like he was caught doing something wrong. “Izzy! Wh-what are you doing here?”

                  The young lady gave a clandestine grin, dark eyes sparkling as she skipped to her brother, her shoulder hitting his chest eagerly. “I asked you a question first, big brother. Now, unless you wish me not to conjure up a reasonable excuse for your absence at dinner, I suggest you answer it.”

                  With a stuttering hand that gave up and now lay loosely against his side, Alec willed his feelings not to break out onto his face for the mirror in front was glaring at him, like it could see into his soul, much like Isabelle, he noted. There were but a handful of people who could see through Alec but Isabelle was the only one who could break through it, which proved to be beneficial in the right times but an annoyance in the wrong times, like perhaps now.

                  “I have prior plans.”

                  Isabelle rolled her eyes. “That has already been established. You’re like a child sometimes, Alec, must I spell everything out for you? _Who_ else is participating in these ‘plans’?”

                  “Someone,” Alec replied briefly and crumbled under the pressure of Isabelle’s palpable gaze, it was akin to the feeling of being pierced with a million arrows. He shuddered out a grimace. “A friend- a fine friend.”

                  With perfectly arched eyebrows raised inquisitively, Isabelle tugged on her brother’s smart, expensive shirt, the kind one would wear to impress at a ball. “ _Fine_ , huh? Sounds like an understatement.”

                  Gulping, Alec shied away from his sister’s taunts unable to maintain a solid fortress that wouldn’t shatter under a few jibes. He was usually great at this kind of thing, but then again so was Isabelle and the lady had many long years to practise her technique on Alec whose emotions were unknown to even himself. It didn’t help that he felt as though he could trust her because he knew deep down, she would be the one who was the least to judge him for any mistake or err.  

                  Noticing the discomforting slump in her brother’s stance, Isabelle knocked her hip against him. “Do not fret, brother. I’ll be sure to have you excused from dinner…but I want a name in return.”

                  Alec looked at his sister through the mirror, her comforting smile gentle and familiar and he was suddenly reminded of the time she was born. He was only a few years young at that point, too young to grasp the entire concept of birth but he remembered the overbearing warmth brimming at his chest when he saw small, delicate Isabelle smile for the first time, wrapped up in a bundle of white and baby hands catching latent dust in the air. Alec had cried in his bedroom that night, but it wasn’t out of sadness just out of pure love and happiness and the conviction that he would do everything in his power to protect that smile.

                  In this situation, that smile simply reminded him that he wasn’t alone. That to protect meant that there had to be two participants and it was then when Alec finally realised that Isabelle was always doing the same thing as him.

                  “His name is Magnus Bane,” Alec said softly, the utterance of the name plunging his heart to his stomach like he was the arrow being thrust through the increasing velocity of the air, forever at the momentum.

                  Without watching her response, Alec warmed at her causal verbal reply nonetheless. “Thank you, Alec.”

                  The finality of the conversation was clear but Isabelle abruptly tugged on Alec’s top buttons vigorously, ignoring his outward protests. “You appear way too stiff, like you lack fibre with this all done up- there you go! Perfect. Well that is if you discount the terrible hair and shoe choice but we don’t have days so I guess this will have to do. Have fun, big brother.”

                  Isabelle pulled Alec down for a brief hug, dismissing the startle in his movements for things were happening way too fast for him to comprehend, her words a hushed whisper as if she was wary of the inanimate objects overhearing. “When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here for you.”

 

***

A nervous thrum stuttered Alec’s fingers that hesitated intensely before rapping politely on the front door, pale knuckles rosy from the rapid slaps on the rough wood. His hands found themselves behind his back, fingers intertwined in a representation of his strict, martial upbringing and Alec wasn’t incognisant to realise that he wore the stance in times of disquietude. As if the semblance of his authoritative demeanour would inject him with vials of false confidence.

                  There was a cacophony of clutter and meows beyond the door before melodic impending footsteps bounded towards the entrance, hands that were prone to display manicured and painted nails tugging on the knob to open the door.

                  “Good evening, Alexander. How do you do?”

                  Alec blushed despite himself, stilling the drag of his eyes over the dark fitted shirt tight around Magnus’ muscles, golden epaulettes and printed with an intricate military design. He absently wondered whether the rows of buttons were actually real and if Alec just reached out, tugged off one then two then three, envisioned whether Magnus’ shirt would just trickle apart like the running water of a waterfall, the ridges of his muscles like the relentless boulders undulating the water in its wake.

                  “-Just great,” Alec breathed out, clearing out his throat when he found his voice a little too high and conspicuous for comfort. “That-um…lovely shirt.”

                  A quirk of a smile pursed the shorter man’s lips. “It is, is it not? I mean, I do recall a young prince complimenting me on my superlative, unparalleled fashion sense.”

                  Alec’s lips twitched upwards, his eyebrows raised inquisitively. “Pardon me, but I don’t seem to remember using such embossed vocabulary-“

                  “Details, details,” Magnus waved off with a flourish of his ringed hand, a black chain running from his index finger to the thick cuff on his wrist, rattling with the elaborate movement. “Please, come in!”

                  The aesthetic of the living room held the same semblance of grace and primness Alec observed on his first visit but now, as he took it all in he noticed the scuffs on the table, the amateur embroidered pillows and the askew paintings on the walls, he saw the comforting details of a home.

                  “Apologies that this isn’t as grand of an abode as the castle,” Magnus spoke into the air as he led them to a table consisting of dinner plates and food and wine. “But feel privileged when I say I do not tidy for just anyone.”

                  Alec shook his head fondly; unable to subdue the flutter in his stomach that occurred when he sat face to face with Magnus, in closer proximity than they had ever been considering the small sized table. “Much gratitude and I like it- _this_ ,” Alec motioned to the air around him, smiling internally at the sight of a doll seated like a human on the nearby couch currently being sniffed at by a small cat. “It feels homely.”

                  The ice-breaking conversation was met with a comfortable silence while they settled into their seats and served food. Alec found that it took a significant amount of time to eat each morsel of the meal for he was glued to the words and theatrics Magnus put on show, unable to tear his gaze even for a second to cut the food into bite-sized pieces. And then the prince realised how ridiculous that predicament sounded and proceeded to fill his stomach, reprimanding himself for his besotted behaviour. It would not do any good to be so forward when he remained unclear about the whole thing, especially considering he was the heir to the throne and two kings could never rule together.

                  Alec shocked himself at the leap in thoughts, marriage never being something he pondered on since it bought a sense of false hope that perhaps someday, things will change. He had to change, for his father, his mother, the king, the queen, the kingdom- Alec couldn’t harbour feelings for a man, it was forbidden. So why was here?

                  “…Having travelled a great deal, it really does brings one’s eyes open to the wider picture,” Magnus trailed on conversationally, his skin golden under the light. “So Alexander, as a prince, you must have been places, no?”

                  After moistening his lips with a flicker of his tongue and being bought back to reality, Alec picked up his glass of wine even though he should have refused and replaced it with water. “I have but I can’t say it was ever one for leisure. The King insisted during my adolescent years to accompany him to his business trips, and though politics intrigues me greatly…it seems as though there isn’t a party I would like to support just yet.”

                  “Mhm,” Magnus hummed. “Care to elaborate?”

                  “Uh well, it’s all very one-sided,” Alec struggled to release, his words a fumble of knotted ribbons on his tongue. His views and beliefs were never ones he revealed, unlike Isabelle or Jace who were confident in their own skin and strong enough to bat away any backlash. “I think what I would like to see is…diversity. But I guess something like that coming from someone like me sounds rather egotistically philanthropic.”

                  Magnus studied Alec for a moment, his brown eyes appearing bright and almost feral in the way they dragged across all the lines and curves of his face, burning gaze like the eyes of a predator. The prince gulped under the intense stare, feeling prickles of heat albeit a rush of goose bumps litter across his arms. He should have moved onto something else, bitten his tongue and wiped away all remnants of the conversation that was slowly uncoiling his secrets.

                  “That sounds like a plan, Alexander.”

                  Alec wet his lips again. “Not a very pragmatic one, I take it.”

                  At that Magnus gave a smile, one with teeth and a crinkle at his eyes and Alec didn’t dare blink. “All ideas seem unrealistic until they simply aren’t. It takes a single thought for change, whether it’s for the greater good or not. And I dare say, you would have at least one advocate in your coterie.”

                  Alec’s hands were still grasped around his wine glass, eyes retaining their line of sight on the man in front of him, steady and firm. “Who?” Alec spoke the question in a whisper, even though he knew the answer, even though the both of them knew the answer- an answer that needn’t be said but something he yearned to hear and play on repeat.

                  “Me.”

                  Their eyes may have only stared at one another for a collective couple of seconds but the air around them was singed with a new sort of ambiance, the kind unknown to at least Alec but he had the urge to move and distract himself because it was resurfacing ideas he rather keep for sleepless lone nights. He was invigorated with Magnus’ support, enough that after Alec finally sipped at his drink he finally explored the surreptitious subjects he oh so dearly wished to discuss.

                  “The Autumn Lustrate is on Friday,” Alec said, fingers finding themselves intertwined as they rested on the table. “It is my duty as the eldest Prince of Idris to contribute to the cleanse.

                  “We have accumulated circa twenty witches but given that there still remains many hours until the date, I can’t see why there won’t be more. Many of them are children.”

                  A heavy silence bored on Alec’s shoulders but he didn’t regret his words, wanted to say more, bleed out his thoughts like a blade to a vein. There was a clear indication that Magnus had moulded into a whirl of discomfort what with the down of his drink and refill. The pads of his fingers rubbed against each other, soft calloused skin caressing in a circular motion that momentarily distracted Alec before Magnus decided to speak again.

                  “Age is but a number in the instance of death,” Magnus’ voice was void of emotion, cold yet casual. “Whether it is a child or an adult staked to that pike of burning wood makes no difference- for me at least, I see every life of equal calibre. A five-year-old stranger burning is the same as a fifty-year-old stranger burning; I won’t ever wish to undermine ones’ demise. Death is the same for everyone, Alexander.”

                  Alec’s mind began to spin, left leg twitching as his heart hammered hard against his chest clad in expensive cloth. “Then I’ll be killing twenty witches-”

                  “-You’ll be killing twenty _people_. Death knows no discrimination, it’s a cause that inflicts upon us all for justice or injustice.”

                  “So how can I be sure that what I’m doing _is_ for justice?” Alec asked, a plead lacing his tone looking at Magnus as if the man held all the answers.

                  Magnus’ adam apple bobbed visibly against his brown skin, portraying a reticent, almost fearful mien. “…I think you are already aware of that answer, sweetheart, if it has come down to speculation.”

                  The heavy truth dawned like the sensation of a slap to his cheek. Like the one Alec’s mother had given him when he was seven, sharp nails scratching his pale youth flesh, painting it with blotches of scarlet and crimson as he bit his already bleeding lip to resist further crying. A girl in the same class as Isabelle’s piano lessons had pushed her off her stool so when his little sister ran to him in tears, Alec had marched up to the younger girl and broke her nose albeit supporting a deep cut lip and bruising eye when she had leaped on him in retaliation, bloody nose and all. Alec accepted the punishment like his parents always taught him to do because obedience ran through the Lightwood’s veins and Jace had commented that he was envious of his battle scars so Alec didn’t regret his actions, even to this day many years later. He figured old habits like obedience died hard.

                  “I question the existence of them at time but mostly the witches’ morality,” Alec said quietly, mind foggy from the lack of clarity with his own thoughts. “I mean not once, in all the years I have been bu-killing them, not once have any of them retaliated and tried to harm me. All I hear are pleas and all I see are dried up tears because the fire is so hot but never once have I been inflicted by a curse…maybe they’re not all evil.”

                  Magnus tapped the table in a patient rhythm. “I presume you know the tale of _Quod Pythonissam est Scriptor_.”

                  “The Witch’s Apostasy?” Alec furrowed his brow at the mention, flashbacks of his history lessons reeling in his mind like a silent film. “It’s the story of the damnation of the witches. A compulsory subject taught first at primary schools.”

                  Magnus nodded in confirmation. “Of course it is. It’s the foundation of why the witch burnings still happen but it’s credible to note that _other_ interpretations aren’t taught at your schools. Allow me to tell you The Witch’s Apostasy differently, Alexander.

                  “Centuries ago there was a King and Queen, happily in love and married. The people of the Kingdom kissed their feet, worshipping them like they were God’s vessels made of fragile flesh. Everyone was content. Later into their reign, rumours burgeoned about the Queen being barren, unable to produce an heir and it was true. The Queen could not bare a child.

“So they travelled to meet with a witch named Lilith and she provided the Queen with a potion that would gift her with fertility in return for a comfortable life in the capital. When it proved that the Queen was fecund, Lilith was bought to stay as an honourable guest in the kingdom’s castle, the only way the King and Queen could show their utmost gratitude for the baby that was due months later.

“The people were elated with the news, celebrations every fortnight and presenting flowers for Lilith for her godly actions. At that point in time, the witches were revered and admired by all. Other witches had surfaced about their magic, paid and thanked for their social work; everything seemed to be going well.

Alec was watching Magnus’ lips attentively, his ears perked up at the content of his words as he absorbed in the information. It was a familiar story, one he had written essays on graded with full marks but it felt different hearing about it now, Magnus wasn’t recalling the history like he was reading the textbook. It seemed heartfelt, sentimental like he had personally lived through it all those centuries ago. He nodded silently at Magnus for a continuation after he had replenished his throat with a drink, moistening his drying vocal cords and clearing them afterwards. His skin was still golden, shiny with glitter and shoulders broad in his tight shirt.

“It wasn’t until the baby had been born on the eve of the snowiest day. A boy named Jonathan Christopher. He was said to have eyes darker than black and an unusual baby for he never cried. After a month of Jonathan’s birth, the King was bedridden due to an inexplicable illness, all flowers wilted, a plague brewing and it was then when the Queen thought there to be something wrong with her child. She had ran to Lilith with Jonathan in her arms, sobbing in hysteria when she suddenly turned the blame to the woman, blaming her for cursing her with such a fate. Blaming her for being a witch. So Lilith was sentenced to death by a pyre for being a witch. Her last words have been noted to be cursing the Kingdom. After that, the witches were prosecuted, maimed and massacred.”

The tale had been the traditional one told at schools, nothing out of the ordinary except for a more emotional approach but it was nothing that would deter one from a life they had been conditioned to live. Alec was about to speak when he realised that Magnus wasn’t done just yet.

Magnus ran his index finger over the pad of his thumb. “But not many are aware of the other exegesis. The Queen was barren yes, but she had not become pregnant- it was Lilith who bore Jonathan. Jonathan was Lilith’s son, and the King and Queen had stolen him as their own. One cannot attempt to empathise with having your own child ripped away from your womb, while you watched them call a stranger mother.

“So Lilith was apoplectic at the royalty’s actions and thus cursed the Kingdom with disease and drought and on the deathbed of her pyre, she said that no mortal could raise her son, the spawn of the devil. The Queen committed suicide a week later and Jonathan was nowhere to be found.”

Alec could hear the thumps of his heart thrashing insistently, the sound of the small cat snoring and the heavy cacophony of Magnus’ palpable stare. It was loud, like a tower bell and callings of morning birds both entwined to create a sense of warning or expectancy but Alec was dubious over his subsequent response. The alteration in the tale was not a completely positive one, not one that completely purified witches from their sin because Lilith had sinned, but _so_ had the people. He picked at his eyebrow scar realising that he had always been doubtful over the subject of witches but to undermine the history that had been beaten into him with curt words and canes, Alec had only become even more confused.

Relinquishing a droned out breath that fanned the air around him, Alec glanced up at the man in front of him, still beautiful and shiny. “How do you know about this? Even through the many manuscripts I analysed at the castle, never did I come across such a different perspective.”

With an eloquent roll of his broad shoulders, Magnus straightened up in his seat in an action that one might deduce as him plastering on a guard but Alec didn’t perceive it in such a way. It wasn’t a comfortable, lax stance but it lacked the tight discomfort he had previously witnessed on the man so he was hopeful for something.

“I had an acquaintance, “ Magnus began, the last word said in a way that didn’t seem to roll off his tongue as easily as it should have, illustrating a sense of secrecy. “I grew up with him, spent the entirety of my youth in his presence- in the company of a witch.”

“So he informed you of this tale?”

Magnus nodded, soft black hair moving delicately with the motion. “I was a young adult when he left me and haven’t heard from him since- I take it that he has passed away or been killed.”

“I’m sorry,” The words left Alec’s lips faster than he could order them to come back.

“Don’t be,” Magnus shook his head, eyes glazing over as if he were remembering something nostalgic. “We had a rather _complicated_ relationship. I don’t miss him.”

A moment of contemplation disguised itself as a few minutes of silence and Alec’s mind was whirling with curious thoughts while also resisting the urge to spill them considering the conversation had taken another turn. He peered into the wine glass, more full than empty and rapped his nails on it absent-mindedly lacing the air with a _twank twank twinkle_. “Am I- Was I wrong to believe in what I did, Magnus?”

The man in question had eyes that gleamed in response to the sentence, eyes passing over every inch of the prince’s body. “History is a construction of the past, something affected by the context it was written in ergo there are many inferences for one thing. So Alexander, I’m not prescribing that you must understand all of them just that you acknowledge that there is never only one side to any story.”

Alec nodded, still taking in the information, mouth pursed in a little frown. “…. Has anyone told you that your speech is peculiarly philosophical- I mean, not that I don’t relish it- just that it can be rather poetic or something…I think I require more time to appreciate it in all its glory.”

Abruptly Magnus began to laugh, jewelled hand cupping over his mouth to muffle the positive sound as his cheeks blossomed a light pink hue that glittered brilliantly under the light of the dining room. Alec thought that rumination around philosophy, politics and death could wait, at least until he was sated with the sight of Magnus laughing blissfully as if their conversation was nothing but short of heavy.

                  When Magnus had captured himself back, he stared at Alec with a new kind of smile. “Would you like to stay for dessert, Alexander? Raphael makes the best spiced bread pudding in town and I happen to have purchased more than the inhabitants of this household can consume.”

                  “I’d love to.”

 

***

A cool breeze tickled the hairs of Alec’s exposed chest, moistened and aromatically stained with scented oils from the bath he just took pausing in his ministrations in cladding his body in towels to glance out of the window of the wide bathroom. A murder of crows were perched in an army formation on the castle gates, stationary and staring straight ahead with their beady abysses as if they were waiting for something important to happen, _knew_ that something was going to happen. Alec could have perceived the imagery of the crows as calamitous foreshadowing but he had never been a very spiritual person so he simply shrugged and assembled himself before heading to the throne hall to dine.

                  A fresh breakfast was laid in the same structural fashion as every other morning and Alec nodded to the servant in recognition as she poured him a cup of hot tea that he nourished his taste buds with soon after. He noticed after he put his mug down that the table was in fact littered with goblets of wine, expensive thinly sliced meats that tended to be served during envoy meetings and edible flowers. The further realisation of the events of the day reeled back like a fisherman would do to his line and Alec couldn’t help but grimace in the face of Jace who was dressed in his best clothes, his sword by his side while he conversed with Max.

                  It wasn’t as if Alec didn’t know the today was the Autumn Lustrate given that his servants had prepared him in his own suitable clothing and spent more time attempting to tame his wild hair but after the date with Magnus discussing such matters, instead of feeling the usual indifference, Alec felt a thrum of trepidation pollute his veins that burgeoned the contaminated blood around his body to make him nauseous. He shuddered at the sight of the sweet jam twinkling next to a bowl of bread, opting for an apple.

                  “Hey Alec,” Jace said after he had finished his conversation with his little brother. “Care to get your arse beat after the Lustrate?”

                  Before Alec could reply, Max spoke with a mouth full of bread. “Can I watch? Can I?”

                  Jace’s initial confident expression contorted when Max had spoke and in the process sprayed him with a rain of wet crumbs causing Alec to snicker despite the queasy feeling in his stomach. Trust his siblings’ antics to somewhat alleviate his state of unease, the statement making Alec internally smile fondly because of the irrefutable integrity behind it. After throwing Jace a napkin that he used to wipe himself with and Max’s mouth because regal nine year olds nowadays lacked table eloquence, he studied Jace with raised eyebrows. “Care to be proven shamefully wrong?”

                  The pretty blonde man narrowed his light eyes. “Caring is not something inherently burdened on me unfortunately for you so if I were you, I’d be shamefully wrong.”

                  Max furrowed his young eyebrows at the comeback while Alec scoffed into his tea, rolling his eyes. “I think this conversation ended a long time ago. For your sake at least, brother.”

                  Ignoring the splutter and words Jace retorted back at him, Alec’s mind drifted off at the sight of the overhead lights shimmering on the goblets on the table as they reminded him of the glitter shining on Magnus’ cheeks. If there were a colour Alec has to use to describe Magnus, it would be gold; a hue everyone admired but could never have for it was too luxurious, too unreachable.

 _Impossible_.

                  “Alec, your pants are unzipped.”

                  “Wh-what?” Alec stammered, embarrassed, eyes darting below and hands following when the eruption of petulant sniggers made him stop with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, the realisation that his brothers couldn’t possibly see his legs for they were sitting at the table. “Oh ha ha. Very mature, Jace.”

                  Jace raised his hands in mock defence, the smirk tugging at his lips giving way to his innocent façade. “I was just making sure, you can never be too careful dear brother. I mean unless you want to provide the witches a sore sight before they die, rather sad in all honesty. To see _that_ and _then_ die. On the other hand, if it was me then that’d be a completely different story…”

                  “See what?” Max asked inquisitively, his young mind trying desperately to follow the interaction between his big brothers and Alec had never wanted to hit Jace more than he did in that moment.

Within the hour the entire Lightwood family had gathered in the great hall, dressed from head to toe in regal perfection with respective jewels. The King wore his diamond-encrusted crown without extraneous effort but Alec couldn’t help but observe how heavy it must be to wear, aside from the materialistic perspective, he thought it to be more of a burden than a symbol and shuddered at the image of the future where one day he would have to shoulder it, have it weigh him down to the laws of gravity.  

The Clave consisted of thirty three members all dressed in impeccable white suits, crisp and translucent as they lined in five rows in an almost militant manner that Alec found was a familiar stance he himself would take in the army. They stood behind him and the other royals but in front of the army, the clear cut of their status visible for those in the room to see as they set off to the Keep in that order to begin the parade. As soon as Alec felt the hushed whisper of the wind, not yet uncomfortably cold he straightened up when the sight of the people entered his vision, faceless bodies spanning far beyond his eyes could see from outside the castle until the furthest ones were dark polka dots in the fog.

“Greetings, children of Nephilim. I wholly appreciate the grace of your presence on this fated day of the Autumn Lustrate,” King Robert’s voice echoed throughout the kingdom, the people hushing at the sound submissively. “Now let us hold our hands together and pray.”

                  Instinctively Alec braced his hands in a symbol of prayer but his eyes gazed beyond the wall and to the bailey where twenty-two witches resided attached to stakes with rough swabs of rope. A fair amount of soldiers stood guard at respective points of the grounds, but Alec locked his sight onto the woman in white: Imogen Herondale, the Clave member that would physically initiate the burnings. He grit his teeth.

                  King Robert lifted up his head, dim blue eyes surveying the scene in front of him. “Here, lie the heretics, those who threaten and attempt to challenge God’s omnipotence. They are the damned; they have turned their backs on God all for the Devil. They are weak, subservient under temptation so it is by the duty bestowed upon me by God himself that I condemn them to hell. May you all join me in this purification. _Sed Lex Dura Lex._ ”

                  Tumultuous applause erupted throughout Idris and King Robert raised his jewelled hand upwards towards the sky like he stood on the same grounds as God, snapping it through the air to indicate that the command for the burnings to begin had been given. Without hesitation, Imogen ignited the first fire on an old man, his screams piercing through the cheers and prayers and songs of the audience. Alec watched on as more people caught on fire, flesh crisping underneath the hot red flames, bones disintegrated to ashes that got dismissively swept away with the wind like they had never existed.

“You okay?” Jace asked Alec from his right side, the intense years that they had known each other coming in handy when either knew exactly when the other were feeling uneasy.

Alec didn’t turn to look at his brother. “Their screams are loud.”

If Jace were perturbed by the comment or confused, he didn’t let it show in his voice for he just shrugged and looked passed the calamity. “ _The sound of death is the most deafening sound of all_. Isn’t that what father says?”

“Then he must be deaf,” Isabelle cut in beside Jace, her dark eyes like black stones as she looked ahead.

“We all are.” Alec said simply.

The Lightwood siblings shared an unuttered opinion about the Lustrates; one never outwardly admitting the clear immorality of it all but Alec was the first one to say it aloud. Perhaps that was why he was so drawn towards Magnus, yearning to be in his company that burst at the seams with inexplicable trust. The eldest prince could say anything, be anything and Magnus wouldn’t judge or ridicule him, at least that was the sense Alec attained from him but their previous date at his house proved the statement to be true.

_‘Death is the same for everyone, Alexander.’_

Magnus’ words rang in his ears like a reminder that people were dying beneath him by his hands, leaving behind loved ones and lives that may have been happy before such a fate was thrust on them all because they were different, an apparent threat to the structure of society built by God. Alec wasn’t denouncing God by condemning the Lustrate but he figured that there had to be a way where everyone could co-exist peacefully, absent of mutual inherent contempt. Other and perhaps even himself would shake his head at his childlike mind-set but wasn’t simplicity easier than the complexities of the whole form of good and bad?

The first attack was sudden, without warning and shocked everyone to their immobile state; disabling them from effectively reacting for bewilderment laced the shared atmosphere. A soldier had been punctured with an arrow in the throat, razing his carotid artery rendering blood spewing out like a fountain as the man stumbled and broke off the wooden shaft with the alarming pressure he burdened it with in an attempt to remove it. He stumbled in an erratic motif, other soldiers arrive to his aid if only to be there to accompany him to death.

When the second wave hit, the people turned to chaotic yelling and fearful sprints towards home, the change in the air plunging Alec out of daze and into a militant stance.

“What’s going on?” Jace exclaimed, hands already burdened with dual swords as he joined Alec in his descent in to the castle grounds. “A neighbouring infiltration?”

Alec unsheathed his sword from his hip, after nodding to Isabelle who grabbed Max to get him to safety along with their parents and taking the stairs. “I have no idea but whatever it is, we have to stop it.”

Soldiers burst from every passing door, armed and heading towards the grounds to manage the chaos, the brothers running beside each other until they reached the bailey. Amongst the burning witches were bleeding guards; Clave members alerting those around them with instructions while Alec gave his own to his factions. They were to aid the wounded and provide backup for the guards on the frontlines but as Alec passed the soldiers, he paused at the young man tied to a stake, tears streaming down his damp cheeks.

“My prince! Please, help us!”

He ran his eyes along the rows of witches, realising that there was at least five that hadn’t been burnt from a first glance. Alec looked up at the man, eyes flitting to his soldiers then back at him, mind wondering from his objective to his wishes and muttered out a curse before using a casual dagger to tear away at the restraints that roped the man to the stake. The stranger wore dirty clothing, scuffed at the knees but the beauty of relief was clear on his face and it filled Alec with a new kind of pride. Alec leant forward and forcefully pressed the dagger into the man’s hands. “Help everyone else. Then run as far away from here.”

Without wasting time, the man bowed rapidly before fulfilling his task and Alec allowed himself to watch for a couple seconds, being bought back to reality when he felt someone grasp his forearm.

“What are you doing, Alec?” Jace asked in a hurry as he tugged him further into the mess. “Did you just free them-“

“That doesn’t matter now,” Alec denied rapidly, quick to hide what he had just done. “We have more pressing concerns at hand.”

An unfamiliar herd of black hooded figures burst into the grounds, armed and fledging a full-frontal attack on the soldiers without much effort as if they held another purpose for the intrusion. When it became clear of who the opponents were, Alec and Jace set off together, the elder one finding himself clanging his sword with another whose strength rivalled those of the elites in his faction. But Alec was always someone who was swift and light on his feet, despite his tall stature, he almost danced his way to victory with a sword- a way he had learnt to do in the company of Jace and Isabelle when his bow and arrows were condemned.

Methodically deflecting the momentum of his attacker’s blade with a brandish of his own, Alec heard the familiar screech of steel on steel as the both of them dug their feet into the ground, faces drawn together while they pushed towards each other like polarised magnets. The hooded opponent was perhaps of the same level of strength as Alec, something that the prince cursed inwardly at when he figured that his skill would have to prevail if he wished to win the fight. Not that he doubted his skill in anyway; Hodge always made sure that the young Lightwoods reinforced the belief in their power, to never just give up.

The attacker’s face though jaded gave a sense of a smirk that Alec could hear by the way they rapidly retracted their sword and in one fluid movement serrated through Alec’s thick regal coat, blood sluicing the material like one had just turned on a tap to allow the flow of liquid to pass through. Alec groaned painfully, skittering backwards defensively as his blade cluttered to the floor in a _clang clang_ cadence of finality and grit his teeth as the sharp wind cut through his exposed flesh, all susceptible to contamination.

“I thought you royal children were God’s warriors,” The man said sardonically, holding up his sword coated in a layer of Alec’s blood like a trophy. “Perhaps it was fallacious of me to expect even a semblance of a challenge.”

Alec cringed through the pain, ears hot with the sound of his blood rushing out from his laceration and eyes zoned out to the hectic surroundings to the opponent in front of him. “Your words imply an imminent win but I’m still standing.”

“Only just, dear prince.”

Then the man surged forward, his sword hilted and Alec stole those precious seconds of the advance to predict the attack, mentally patting his head when he correctly moved out of the way in time. Now that Alec was without a sword but burdened by a bloody arm that wouldn’t do much use against someone of his opponent’s calibre, he figured it best to fight without the inhibition of his weapon, as it would only lead him open for more injuries when he lacked the other hand for defence.

So Alec took advantage of the moment the man spent to regain composure and slammed his good fist down to his face relishing the satisfying _cru-crunch_ when he made contact, rendering his opponent to stagger back in surprise. But Alec bit back down on the pain pulsing in his arm and persevered, bringing his fist to the man’s face in a similar motion as before until he slipped unto the dusty ground matted with blood from the both of them. Staring down at the attacker momentarily, Alec bounded on him when he shifted to stretch back up, straddling his hips to lock him in place and retrieving his blade from the stranger’s loosened grip to hold against his throat.

Even now the man’s face was shaded, a black material bandaging his features to hinder further identification than his sex as if he were just another innocent person on the streets Alec walked on, nameless. “May God forgive us all.”

The final, desperate words that left the man’s lips repeated like a mantra as Alec pressed the blade into his neck, slicing through the layers of flesh and arteries easily to create a dark scarlet sprinkle to splatter at his face, staining Alec’s cheeks and blinding his eyes and colouring his lips. His body began to spasm uncontrollably underneath the prince and Alec watched as the life left the stranger, a litany of him choking and coughing on his own blood like cacophony to the prince’s ears until his movements lost all vigour and he just stopped moving altogether. With jaded eyes, Alec got up and turned his back on the man, mind reeling back all emotions to substitute it for the mind of a soldier.

                  A throb of pain alerted Alec that his forearm was still in fact bleeding, the cut running from the inside of his arm to the start of his palm, blood soaking through the thick cotton of his coat that he quickly jettisoned after cutting the arm off to use a makeshift gauze to protect his injury. It was better that the bandaged material around his laceration was tight to minimise his chance of bleeding out because he hardly had time to ponder about himself when his kingdom was in a midst of disarray. Alec ran his gaze over his surroundings, taking note of the bodies on the ground and feeling a wave of relief hit him when he saw that Jace was fine, albeit a bit bruised but breathing.

                  It seemed as though there were only a small number of the hooded intruders, and when Jace had finished with his opponent he joined Isabelle who had cornered the last one with the remaining soldiers, Alec following in suit and wondered when his sister had entered the battleground. He still held the bloody sword in his hand that was stained with both his and the strangers’ fluid but no one would be able to tell since it all looked the same.

_‘Death is the same for everyone, Alexander.’_

                  Isabelle held her whip deftly. “State your name and objective.”

                  Dirty blonde hair spilled out from the tears in her clothed mask, blood staining the colour of the trespasser's skin as she talked in reserved pants like she had punctured her lung. “My name…matters not- inform your King that Valentine lives. The Circle…prevail…mercy…Valentine,” Then an abrupt clutter of moans left her lips as blood poured form her mouth, her body convulsing as she gagged and choked on her blood and vestige of tongue she bit off that wedged itself in her windpipe. Isabelle was the first to be bought out of the shocking daze of the forever shifting situation, crouching down to open her mouth and relieve the injury but the lady had already entered the stages of death, her eyes rolling back to her head, coughs splattering blood on Isabelle’s perfect skin as she was left to pass by exsanguination.

                  Jace had knelt down to grasp Isabelle’s shoulder and lift her against him, noticing that she was unsteady from the close proximity of the lady’s death but Alec was preoccupied with observing the empty stakes that were virgins from the touch of fire, an unnameable emotion welling within him when it was confirmed that the rest of the witches, the people sentenced to death had escaped into the midst of the chaos. He could still hear the panic of the people, the stench of ashes and blood pungent in the air but at that realisation, Alec was unusually tranquil.

 

***

“The disturbance at todays Autumn Lustrate was caused by The Circle,” King Robert spoke authoritatively seated in his throne at the top of the throne room, appearing completely unperturbed the event as if he had just woken up to a brand new day. “It pains me greatly that it has come to this. That the devils have infiltrated God’s wards but fear not for I will ensure that God’s wrath rains down on them, hard enough that they wish to return to the pits of hell where they belong.”

                  The local Council and Clave members clapped in unison to their King’s words, but Alec didn’t which was warranted because his left arm was wrapped in gauze and positioned in a sling that disabled such a pivot. He was seated next to Michael Wayland, his father’s closest advisor and plastered on a facial expression that portrayed his attentive state when in actual fact he was miles away.

                  There had been a death toll for the stampede that ensued when the hooded Circle members arrived and the people screamed, ran in every direction mindless of those around them while they zoned their focus on their own safety. He couldn’t fault anyone for that as Alec did the same when he ensured that his family was safe behind the unyielding castle doors so it was simply unfortunate that innocent people had to die in the process. However a list of names for the deceased was postponed until clarity purified Idris, until the disarray was simply a thing of the past so Alec thought the trepidation running through his veins was called for when he had no idea of the state Magnus was in. He refused to imagine the glitter on the man’s cheeks dimmed by the dust of careless footsteps, warm brown eyes ceasing vibrancy, as life no longer animated them. Alec didn’t let his mind venture that far, didn’t acknowledge that the possibility was a possibility. Magnus had to be okay.

                  “I presume the objective of The Circle is clear to you all. They freed those witches, our sacrifice to God for their own worth. We cannot let this deter us from our fate. They wish for an Uprising, to denounce God and establish demon blood but that is not what God has destined for our kind. We must purge every single last one of them.”

                  Another round of applause flitted around the room and Alec itched to interrupt his father to amend his mistake- to apprise him of the fact that his own son, heir to the throne, set the witches free. But the young man bit his tongue even as images flashed in his mind of the consequent eruption of reactions, how the Clave would stare at him in disgust, yell his sin of treason and sentence him to exile or perhaps death. Maybe King Robert would be the one to do it, decapitate Alec with the very sword he was destined to hold.

                  King Robert held up a hand for silence. “Therefore I will leave it in Michael’s hands to inform you of the interim curfew system I wish to have set in place by tomorrow morning to ensure that the Circle do not attempt something as blasphemous as this again.”

                  Curfew? Alec frowned when he was pulled from his thoughts, absorbing the information that Michael read from a scroll of parchment as he stood at the front of the table with all eyes on him. “All citizens must be indoors by seven o’clock sharp and eight on prayer day. All unsanctioned congregations of over five people will be bought to trial under the presumption of illicit rebellion. All suspicious behaviour will be questioned by militia and in exception, court. All imports will be investigated. If you have any suspicions that someone is affiliated with The Circle, it is imperative that it must be reported to the Council. Any one found guilty of this association will be sentenced to death.”

                  A low murmur walked through the room, an indication of an impending discussion and though Alec had a few things he would have liked to say he knew his current input would be void in comparison to the political bodies around him. The only reason why he was here was because he was heir to the throne, a general of the army by nature and occasionally held meetings with local bodies. This wasn’t a time for Alec to suddenly intervene and throw himself into politics where he still lacked experience, never mind being the youngest one there, which always worked out as a hindrance as evident with Max. Then there was the looming presence of the most powerful person in Idris, his father who as the publisher of the new ambiguous code would at the very least lethally disapprove of Alec’s criticisms.

                  When he was finally excused from the meeting, Alec neglected to inform his siblings of the significant aspects to it for seeing Magnus took priority. He couldn’t stomach the idea that something might have happened to him, that he was in danger and the burning concern Alec felt for the man shocked him in a great wave. It wasn’t as though his brother and sister would be vexed by his postponed arrival seeing as it would only be by around an hour, but Alec wondered exactly when he began to develop a sense of protection over Magnus.

                  The hike to Magnus’ house was short yet sore as Alec abused his long legs in fierce strides that were weary from the exertion of the unprecedented fight in the morning. Even though he was fit enough to withstand it all, it didn’t mean he didn’t yearn for a hot, rejuvenating soak that would ultimately unfurl all the knots in his muscles but he could worry about himself after. Especially now that he was face to face with the familiar brown door, the familiar askew paediatrician sign and the familiar flutter of emotions that came with Magnus. Alec was postured in a slight crouch, quiet pants leaving his lips as he rapped on the door with bruised knuckles.

                  A few droned out moments later, the door creaked open to reveal a dark-skinned, inquisitive looking woman wearing her thick hair in braids that fell like a running waterfall around the frame of her small face. It was Catarina, the woman Magnus lived with. “Yes- Prince Alec. What can I do for you?”

                  Alec blanched at the unfamiliar figure, his free arm lonely without the company of his other to intertwine with behind his back as a nervous thrum rushed through him. “I-I apologise for this uninvited visit but um, I hoped to see Magnus?” He phrased the last past as a question, feeling a hot flush colour his cheeks at the fact that someone else found out that wanted Magnus Bane.

                  But the hesitation that sketched Catarina’s face halted Alec in his humiliation, his hot blood running cold while the worse possibilities bounded his mind like flashing lights that suddenly dimmed when Catarina spoke: “…He’s currently with a client.”

                  Pure, unadulterated relief filled Alec in limitless waves at the reassurance that Magnus was okay, fine, just fine. He hadn’t been hurt, was well enough to pursue his career. It was as if Alec could suddenly stand up again to his proper height as if a metaphorical weight had been lifted up from him, no longer supporting the dismal burden that came with caring about someone. Alec knew he shouldn’t feel this way, was wrong to feel such emotions for another man but this time it was the kind he had no option of suppression.

                  “I think he’ll be done in a short while,” Catarina added when she observed the now lax stance in Alec’s shoulders. “If you would like to, Prince Alec, you can wait inside to see him.”

                  He blinked rapidly. “Oh, uh if that’s alright with you- I do not wish to intrude-“

                  “Nonsense, Prince Alec,” Catarina said dismissively even though her eyes relayed differently. “I am sure that Magnus will be pleased, besides it is in your prerogative and my obedience that I concede to your every wish, is it not?”

                  Despite the evident difference in status, Alec couldn’t subdue the harbouring feeling of submission that ensued when he was in the presence of Catarina, akin to the type he felt at his first encounter with Magnus. As if the both of them watched him for the slightest prickle of movement, an inconspicuous skitter of goose bumps along his arms or the nervous dart of his eyes. Even though Alec was of royal blood, he felt like a slave at their feet, something beneath the ground they walked on as they muttered unshed, illicit words through those they spoke to him, but he was simply too jaded to catch on anything. He suddenly thought of the feral glint in Magnus’ eyes and shuddered involuntarily as he sat himself on the familiar sofa. Alec may have been the prince, but Magnus ruled him in a way he couldn’t explain.

                  Catarina’s hospitality made him ease his discomfort but it was Madzie’s vibrant presence that purged the uncomfortable thrum of his fingers as she surveyed him with careful dark eyes, her lips breaking into a smile when he complimented her scarf, which was now decorated with red and pink roses. She allowed him to stroke little Chairman Meow, explaining how the pitches of his purrs indicated the spectrum of his feelings and was elated when he released a cadence of a calm motor.

                  “He likes you!” Madzie grinned, and Alec couldn’t help but smile back at the observation of a missing front tooth. He remembered when Max had lost his first one and cried until Alec spent the rest of the day searching the castle for it only to be completely removed from the ordeal when Jace had gifted him a wooden toy soldier that he kept with him like a second skin.

                  Then Catarina returned, motioned for Madzie to follow her upstairs and disappeared herself but not before sending a pointed stare in Alec’s direction, the look clearly implying a message that Alec was too socially inept to decipher immediately. The lone atmosphere left Alec in his silent thoughts and though Chairman Meow had warmed up to him, paws resting on his thighs, he was never one to find a friend in neither animals- nor humans for that matter. Each second seemed to drag on, like a second was suddenly equivalent to a minute and a minute to an hour, however long it was until Alec was no longer alone he had no idea.

                  The sound of soft pads of feet wrenched Alec from his timeless trance, his ears perking up at the bounding footsteps echoing throughout the house that left their doors open. Even when absent of his usual heeled boots Alec could distinguish between the familiar cadence, unique in its frequency and pitch like he walked a dance not known to man.

                  “Alexander?”

                  Alec didn’t even realise he was already standing up before his legs advanced rapidly as if possessed towards the sonorous voice, inviting him to be encapsulated in a cave that only consisted of one path. Perhaps there were other paths, moral ones, logical ones that were unlike the one full of hedonism which Alec currently ambled on but, in that moment all the prince could see was shiny golden skin and ringed fingers before his own hands reached outwards to brush fervently against the glitter on his cheeks.

Magnus stared up at him, confusion laced in the way his raised eyebrows were presented but his eyelids were hued dark from a dusting of makeup, smoky appearance accentuated by the liquid kohl inked around them which rendered the russet glint in his brown eyes to shimmer beautifully. Alec was engulfed in a wave of irrational desire as his hands tugged Magnus’ face up to press his lips against his own, the pressure of erogenous skin sending a loud thrum of pleasure through Alec’s body as he closed his eyes blissfully.

A small sound of incredulity stuttered out of Magnus’ mouth, the light vibration an unintentional action of encouragement that Alec used to press his lips further and further as they shared plumes of breath. The ear cuff coiled around Magnus’ upper ear was cold against the prince’ knuckles as Alec hesitantly breached the distance to thread his fingers through his hair, relishing the dark silky texture. Magnus’ hands shook their way to settle into the small of Alec’s back, the touch a scintilla of reluctance that the recipient was unaware of it. But there they were, in the middle of Magnus’ living room, breathing into each other’s mouth, locked in physical companionship.

The action of kissing was one that held connotations of requited affection. So when their lips broke away from each other, Alec’s knees trembled at the overbearing feeling of elation that bore into him for despite all the consequences, he had kissed Magnus and Magnus had kissed him. Despite society’s traditions, his reputation, Alec had dismissed all of that for a throe of self-indulgence and acceptance of himself, of Magnus, of the clandestine internalised feelings that were inherent and could no longer be ignored now that he had met Magnus.

But deep within, beneath the healed skin were scars of old wounds and no matter how arduously Alec tried to cover them up, there would always be at least an iota of bars of the outside world that condemned parts of him. Fortunately in that moment, Alec wasn’t focussed on that aspect of what he did and what he was because negative rumination seemed to hold no seat in Alec and Magnus’ small party.

“I uh-“ Alec cleared the guttural baritone to his voice, appreciative at the image of the crooked smile currently creasing Magnus’ plump lips. Where his were only seconds before. “I apologise for the late hour- I would have come earlier but prior engagements hindered me in doing so- I had to know if Magnus, if you were okay.”

Magnus surveyed him with an expression of fondness that melted away all the initial shock he felt, a chuckle leaving him as his arms were still wrapped around the prince’s waist. “You never cease to amaze me, Alexander. Thank you for checking up on me…amongst other things,” Magnus added with a flirtatious wink that had Alec audibly gulping like a hyperbolic sound effect.

“Magnus,” Alec began, deciding to talk impulsively. “I’m a prince.”

Magnus just nodded, still smiling. “I know.”

“Homosexuality is illegal.”

“I know,” Magnus repeated, brown eyes still staring at him and skin shiny with glitter.

“But,” Alec’s breath caught in his throat, the next litter of words coming out breathlessly like they stole all ounce of oxygen out of him as compensation of being said. “But still. I like you, Magnus.”

                  “I know.”

                  Soon after the words had been said, Magnus leaned on his tiptoes to kiss Alec momentarily. “I like you too, dearest Alexander.”

                  For a moment they shared a comfortable silence, one that spoke words that needn’t be said aloud for they understood. They knew.

                  “The entire prospect of this illicit relationship is rather thrilling, don’t you think?” Magnus asked teasingly, hooking his arms around Alec’s neck to pull him close. “I feel like your dirty little secret. A _literal_ gentleman of your bedchamber.”

                  At the indignant groan that left Alec, Magnus burst into cordial laughter that the prince found himself joining in seconds after because of the infectious nature of it, a nimble weight gently shouldering him in a non-discomforting manner as he simply looked at the beautiful man in front of him.

                  Ever since Alec realised that his attractions were subversive and differed from his siblings, he disregarded any sort of romantic relation with anyone unless he had to play into his role of the eldest prince of Idris and win over the heart of a noble maiden to maintain his pretence of normalcy. It was something that he figured Isabelle was knowledgeable of but his fear of accepting himself deterred him from ever bringing it up for discussion even though perpetual nights of self-abasement could have been avoided if he did or at least decreased in quantity.

His mind was recalled back to a time in Alec’s adolescence, young and withdrawn in the presence of a brunette noble woman from a neighbouring country. He remembered the way his eyes flitted to rest upon her brother with broad shoulders standing a few feet behind her delicate shoulder and then his dormant libido invigorate at the indecent fantasies that followed him far into the private cove of his bedroom, alone with his seemingly immoral thoughts. Alec recalled the hot flush upon his cheeks, the blistering pleasure singing his skin and white lust that stained his sheets as he envisioned the press of the noble man’s body against his own, both sweaty from debauchery.

That same night, Alec realised that he wasn’t like Jace or Isabelle. That he had to have been cursed as a child because those feelings were integrated into him, inherent and yet he pushed them aside, ignored that part of himself. And yet here he was in the arms of another man, absent of latent feelings of self-disgust and he knew it had to do with Magnus. It was impossible for one to accept themselves overnight especially in the instance of loathing that part of them for the entire expanse of their life, so Alec realised that he was coming to acceptance because he had someone. Because he had Magnus. But that didn’t make Alec weak and he was glad that his thoughts took that path since sharing that part of him was one of the strongest things Alec had ever done.

The following months were filled with trysts, consisting of hushed laughter into dark nights and hot skin on skin, as Alec would surreptitiously manipulate his patrol sessions to visit Magnus.

They would meet on rainy evenings, Alec drenched despite his heavy coat and cloak but Magnus would simply insist on drying his hair with a towel with Alec seated between his legs, his back pressed against Magnus’ comforting chest as they talking late into the night. Sometimes Alec would dine with Catarina, Ragnor and Madzie seated next to Magnus on the table that was too small to accommodate all of them but they made it work through shoulders against shoulders and legs tangled underneath the table, sharing cordial conversations. They would meet somewhere in the deep descent of the forest, bodies flushed against oak trees that retaliated with their bark grazing their skin but they took turns to endure the pain while they kissed and touched and _shared_.

Every moment with Magnus was like Alec opening a new door to the unknown. He didn’t know what to expect despite their developing relationship, finding that the lovely man always had a way of surprising him in a good-mannered way. He relished the adventurous stories of Magnus’ past, eager and desperate to learn more about him- to be aware of all the different, intermittent shaped layers that made up Magnus to be who he was. Alec didn’t have to listen to his words sometimes, just stare and observe the slightest changes in his shade of glitter or composition of rings that would gift with the many miens Magnus wore in accordance to his moods, subconscious or not.

Amongst all the discoveries between each other, they found common ground on their love for family. Alec learnt that in Magnus’ eyes, blood didn’t equate to family but it was the bonds between others that made it. He thought it to be a beautiful thing and that same night the words were said, Alec told him just that as they intertwined fingers through one another, like a basket woven of flesh, and smiled into the rest of their night together.

However through the many, many days that passed the world outside of their relationship was nothing of the pure blossoming love Alec and Magnus grew together. Streets were more chaotic than not most times of the week, people deciding to purge apparent witches out of their own accord by throwing out their fathers with clothes on fire or arresting crying daughters without further consideration. The holding cells that separated the witches from other criminals were now a concoction of heretics, since available space was growing sparse from the disproportionate ratio of cell to prisoner.

Alec would lay awake in the dead of night, ears barraged with phantom wails of the prisoners begging, crying to be released from the dungeons, that it was all a mistake but he couldn’t do anything. He was chained and locked to his social standing, to the sword he held, to the title he was soon to inherit and even though Alec knew it was wrong, hesitant to rise his eyes to his looming siblings after he would get out of a council meeting with only a more militant reformed curfew to show and no real progress that would placate the burning immorality licking his skin, tattooing his with the letters that made up the word _heathen_.

But Alec didn’t know what to do. Even after more seasonal Lustrates passed and more Circle attacks were inflicted upon Idris, he was still cocooned in a spiralling ball of anxious confusion and helplessness because _what could he do_?

So as the many months passed, Alec found himself frequenting the welcoming arms of Magnus, his absence at the castle becoming a thing of normalcy. Despite this meaning that he spent a significantly decreased time with his sibling, he allowed the contrite that came with the facts that he was always the last person to find out about another one of Isabelle’s kitchen mishaps, or one of Jace’s new battle sequence or even Max growing a centimetre in height- to be pushed aside. As long as he was attending to his regal and military duties then there was no reason for Alec to be lamenting over the fact that every time he looked into the eyes of his siblings, the eyes of the prisoners and the ones on the streets, he felt a heavy boring weight that buckled his knees and dragged him to the earth’s core. Alec wasn’t ready to accept his responsibility, didn’t know how to grasp it with both hands and make it right so he just ignored it, like he had been his entire life.

And then, one evening in the residence of Magnus’, after Catarina had reclined to her bedroom when she caught herself yawning more than joining the conversation, Alec was left alone with Magnus. It wasn’t a rare occurrence, more common than not since they were together but the younger man couldn’t quite decipher the reason why it felt so different and alien in comparison to all other countless times. Alec’s palms were clammy, his eyes darting around the room for something to do while Magnus was fixing drinks for them in the kitchen. They had often lounged in verbal rumination, words sweet and new and refreshing, further feeding their bond.

“It is beginning to get chilly again,” Magnus pointed out conversationally when he drew the curtains and sat next to Alec, his dark purple collared shirt tight around his body.

Alec nodded with his drink in hand. “Scarf season.”

They drank in amiable silence, the air stuffy with unknown emotions and words until Alec’s nervous posture had him jerk into a frazzled stance, shoulders and heart heavy. “Magnus- can I say something?”

Magnus frowned a little at the preface, abandoning his drink to pivot his body in a position that allowed him to solely focus on the man in front of him. “Anything, darling. You know that.”

When the silence drawled out like an opera singer’s last cadence note, Alec’s anxious hesitancy a picture of empathetic clarity that Magnus shied away with a reassuring hand on Alec’s knee, gentle but steadfast in its conviction for being there. Alec gulped, throat dry but the warmth of Magnus’ thigh against his and his hand on him created a blanket of impenetrable support that he could in fact say anything, regardless of the selfish or contentious aspects it may hold, Magnus was there, like the air breathed Alec in all around him.

“I don’t think I can be a leader,” Alec admitted, his skin blistering with shameful heat at the humiliating revelation that wove itself between his intestines as if a vital part of him, now they were unravelling and he felt choked up, like a snake was slithering up through his oesophagus, tickling his gullet and wrapping around his tongue like a vice. Trapped.

Magnus’ voice was a gentle pry away from Alec’s thoughts, the tone a song that charmed the snake within him into beguiling immobility. “Why not?”

It was a simple question, so brief that it took only one second to be uttered but Alec found that it required an endless torment of time to conjure up his muddle thoughts into a coherent answer. To be able to lace and knot all his inhibitions sentences that could encapsulate everything but there wasn’t enough time to be given, nor effort that Alec could waste doing so. So he watched as Chairman Meow nestled himself between their legs on the floor, rubbing his tabby fur and small body against skin in an act of affection as he tried to bare his soul on an empty platter.

“I can clad myself in jewels and expensive silk, even wear the crown of the King but,” Alec stopped, voice shaking in transverse waves as he closed his eyes to concentrate on the feeling of Magnus’ warm palm on his thigh, comforting and present. “But, the semblance of being a King is easy enough, it’s just the labyrinth of responsibility that comes with it that _terrifies me_.

“I cannot bear to sleep in my own bed because I know that there are innocent people living within the same walls without a slither of hope for freedom. I cannot face my brothers, or my sister any longer. They look upon me with eyes of pity as hauls of witches enter the grounds, as I throw down torches and torches and torches of fire and stand there like a fucking helpless child, deaf and blind. And I hate the look of pride my father and mother give me when I do so, I hate it. I _loathe_ it, yet despite it all I haven’t done a single thing. I can’t but I…I want to.”

Even though Alec could have further expressed his thoughts, metaphorically dig the blade deeper into his wrists to let the blood bleed out of old scars and materialise into verbal internal conflict, he caught himself before he let himself fall off that precipice on the cliff in his head. He was standing so close to the edge, legs shaking, fingers trembling and skin so pale with apprehension with the impending sequence of events. Alec hadn’t looked up from the spot on the ground he was fixated on even before he started talking, couldn’t’ bring himself to observe the disapproving lines crease another form of perfection into Magnus’ face because he wasn’t strong enough. Was too weak to uphold his beliefs and put them into practise, too insecure to see if it would all work out in the end.

“Then why don’t you?”

“Huh?” Alec’s head snapped up so hard sounding like a comical snap of a whip, to bore his eyes into the dark brown of Magnus’ eyes, so kind and beautiful.

Magnus shifted closer to him, pressing his hip against Alec’s and catching his chin between his brown fingers, ringed and cold. “When you become king, why don’t you change it all? You may wear that crown by yourself, but you will have your supporters, your people, your loved ones by your side to keep you grounded. When you become king, Alexander, have your reign be as radically positive as you yearn it to be. Make this country your own.”

“I don’t want to kill witches,” Alec whispered surreptitiously, his words phrased like a child.

“Then you don’t have to.”

“I want to be with you. Forever.”

A glazed shine darkened the brown hue in Magnus’ eyes, his fingers brushing gently through Alec’s short hair. “Then you can.”

It was like that that the very insecurities that had been feeding on Alec like a parasite throughout his life were torn open, bleeding and lacerated and beaten into a more diminutive amount. He felt considerably lighter; his head cleared up of incoherent fog and let a lazy smile on his face when he looked at Magnus who wore the same expression. And it was then when Alec knew, could no longer deny that he wouldn’t be alone.

They headed to Magnus’ bedroom a while later after talking about nothing of revolutionary importance but Alec’s could subdue the building heat in his abdomen, the sweat beading on his forehead when he saw Magnus in the bedroom, just there.

Alec cupped Magnus’ cheeks; glitter painting his fingertips as he pressed his lips flat onto the other thumping him back onto the nearby surface of the wall. His lips were delectably voluptuous, slightly chapped yet soft and the lethal sensation inebriated the prince, all initial uncertainty drowned out by reciprocating intakes of breaths and fervent hands curling around hips.

                  “Alec,” Magnus whispered, voice hitched deep in his throat and laced with sensuality as his eyelids hung heavy leaving just a slit of hazy dewed eyes.

                  All Alec could ever think to do was continuing kissing Magnus, thoughts of the evening removing themselves in masses as they were guided to the private cove of Magnus’ bed, gold sheets ruffling and mattress deflating under the pressure of two bodies slammed against it. Magnus leant up on his elbows, pensive eyes regarding the man underneath him before nuzzling against him in comfort, draws of hot breath fanning the exposed skin of Alec’s nape deliciously.

The wet press of lips on his neck moistened by his own mouth had Alec keen underneath Magnus; soft moans unwittingly leaving him in a coerced portrayal of pleasure. A coy giggle lined the air, giddy and fond as Magnus wholly laid his body atop of the prince, eyes again peering into a pool of hazel and a gentle smile creasing his face. He traced the shadows of Alec’s cheekbones, lightly pressing the pads of his fingertips across the planes of his face as if to reassure himself that Alec was actually solid, a concrete of flesh, _here_.

                  “Alexander,” Magnus murmured into the warm air despite the cool night outside, nebulous stares and cheeks flushed darkly even against the glitter. “I- do you want…”

                  Alec groaned lowly in response to the content of the words, mind fizzled out of any sort of latent logical concerns or options for how else they should pursue the evening they had together. Even with the looming presence of anarchy and inequality being a perpetual inhibition in his life, all Alec knew in that moment was the distinct smell of Magnus assaulting his senses. Delicious sandalwood and something sweet, the hot radiation of his torso against his own despite the barricade of clothing and the sight of riveting brown eyes liquefying against the hints of psychedelic gold. He wanted to drown in those eyes, breathe them in and supply his lungs with the sight and _transcend_. The dashing colour aside, Alec wanted to see _into_ Magnus bare, exposed and naked.

                  Gripping the collar of Magnus’ shirt in a powerful grasp, Alec tugged him down harshly against his chest albeit erupting a muffled sound of surprise when their mouths crashed together, teeth grazing bruised lips and tongues licking. Alec tasted alcohol and the unique saccharinity trace that came with Magnus, the taste like a drug the prince sought arduously after like a zealous addict.

                  Alec knocked their foreheads together with bated breath and collective panting, hot air being blown across his face and making his lashes flutter delicately. “God, Oh Angel. I want this… I’ve never wanted something as much as this, Magnus. _Magnus_.”

                  “I know darling,” Magnus murmured, eyes rapidly absorbing the sight of desperation Alec currently illustrated, yearning for it to be permanently etched into his memories like a tattoo. “I want you so much, Alexander.”

                  “And I’ll take you,” Alec challenged, the splatter of green in his eyes animated and dancing.

                  Magnus leant impossibly further against the body underneath him, preening in the heavy atmosphere painting itself with taunts of a game he would very much like to win. “I’ll debauch you.”

                  “I’ll ravish you,” Alec retorted, running fingers through Magnus’ dark strands of hair gently, contrasting greatly to the filthy words he spoke.

                  “Oh. _Fuck me_ , prince.”

                  The finality and brevity in Magnus’ voice and words was all that had to be said in order for things to proceed. An exasperated sigh, hitched with a moan left Alec’s mouth in the middle of him kissing Magnus again, the sound reverberating inside their mouths making the both of them chase and search for more and much more as Magnus gyrated his hips down to elicit a clutter of collective whines. Their lips latched onto each other’s, white heat coiling and building, thrumming blistering hot pleasure through the slightest touch.

It was suddenly too warm, too hot and not enough. Alec’s fingers were like spiders crawling up and down the gradients of Magnus’ abdomen, feeling the ridges of taut muscles and instantly liking the way it made him feel safe to be under such a strong pack of physical strength. It was the kind of safety Alec didn’t acquire with a sword by his side; it was one that only Magnus could provide for him.

                  Teeth gently captured Alec’s bottom lip in a motion of letting go before Magnus pressed hot, wet kisses down the prominent cords of his throat. Alec arched up into the salacious action while fumbling with the buttons on Magnus’ shirt in an attempt to bare his torso completely. When it fared too difficult a task with their sandwiched position, the both of them shared cordial laughter that complemented their nerves of wishing everything to progress perfectly.

And the night wasn’t textbook perfect; it was filled with nervous touches and painful bites on collarbones and one or two rings getting stuck in Alec’s hair, yet it overflowed with reciprocated passion and sweet, tender pleasure. And it made the both of them forget about all the faults of the world their sole focus zoned into granting each other highest calibre of indulgence.

“Oh sweet Angel,” Alec groaned out, eyes raking the nakedness of his lover’s body and limbs ardently twitching for a thorough physical connection to reassure his own mind and body that all that was happening was actually. That Magnus was real. “Magnus, _God_. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

The inimitable sound that left Magnus’ bruised lips sent a thrum of tingling pleasure that coursed through Alec’s body, his ears feeling ravished and molested with the delightful yet concupiscent moan- no. It went beyond the criteria for a moan; the whimper that Magnus verbalised was the new paradigm for one and Alec wanted, _needed_ to drink in his insatiable fill for it. He poured his eyes into Magnus’ bright ones, wild and feral and Alec felt delightfully trapped.

Magnus was seated on his hips; torso bare and tight pants creasing where his erection fought against the seams. Alec licked his lips before reaching out and dragging a finger against the damp expanse of Magnus’ lips, gasping quietly when he took the phalange into his mouth, hot and wet around Alec’s finger. The prince experimentally moved his finger around in Magnus’ mouth, twirling it around his tongue and lightly trailing it along the roof to elicit a choked, guttural whine from Magnus’ throat before he rocked his hips down in response to portray his eager desire.

Alec released an unrestrained groan towards the action, his finger coated in a layer of saliva slipping from Magnus’ mouth as he pushed his own hips back against the man on top of him, his hard erection kindly sending a burst of pleasure to Alec’s when he received the same motion in return. In the midst of their fervent grinding session, their eyes met in a stuttering connection.

                  Right now they weren’t prince and commoner, higher class and lower class, man and man, human and demon; they were just Alec and Magnus. Two people who found each other through the shrubs of the world, cocooned in fellow warmth of body heat, emotions and spirituality. The world outside was on play, it hadn’t stopped but in that moment the only time they had was spent on focussing on one another, basking in the feel of skin on skin, relishing in the sounds of hedonism, tasting wetness and pleasure and sharing each other.

                  Fingernails printed red lines across Alec’s muscled back, the pain clashing sweetly when paired with the feeling of Magnus enveloping him in a bottomless pit of perspiring white heat. Alec sucked and bit purpling bruises to his neck, guttural moans catching in his throat when witnessing the marks against blistering bronze skin, dark and beautiful and all _his_.

                  Hips bucking and grinding, the constant slap of skin on thighs as they sought after unravelling that knot of pleasure they were both tying up, tighter and tighter until it burst into whimpers of “ _Alexander_ ” “ _Magnus_ ” and profanities, sensitivity rippling through spasms of uncurling and unfurling muscles, sending painful pleasure that ran cyclically from the head to the toes.

                  Sweat clad their satiated bodies, chests rising up and down, and fatigue trapping them where they were as their hands found in each other in the middle. Magnus could hear the even rhythm of Alec’s heartbeat drumming against the flesh of his chest that his head laid contentedly on top of and just breathed in the scent of warmth. _Tu_ - _Tump_. _Tu_ - _Tump_. _Tu_ - _Tump_.

                  Abruptly, a sudden slither of ice ran cold in Magnus’ body as if he just realised something, a reminder. “Alexander?” He called out quietly, voice soft and reserved that could have been interpreted as an effect of tiredness to those only unfocussed.

                  Alec released a weary grumble, choosing to snuggle deeper into Magnus’ side as if they could somehow get physically closer. His hand was a light clutch in Magnus’ steadfast grasp, signalling his exhausted state while his eyes remained closed, cut off from conversation. But Magnus chewed on his bruised bottom lip anxiously, psychedelic eyes flitting over the man beneath him.

                  “Alexander. I need to tell you something.”

                  The lack of response determined the deep slumber Alec tuned into, eyes and ears unseeing and unhearing all surroundings. A light litter of snores was enough indication for Magnus that Alec had settled into a peaceful sleep and it would be improperly rude of him to wake him up from it, no matter how much he yearned to.

He released the glamour on his eyes with bated breath; magic placated by the unyielding hold they held on the chains of the disguise so as to not let it erroneously slip during the time Magnus and Alec had sex. The subsequent respite from the magic that bound his extraocular muscles provided Magnus with temporary relief, his green-gold eyes feasting on the sight of Alec since he had never witnessed him this way. His cat-like eyes allowed him to see depths and beyond normal human abilities, vision increasing greatly because of the powers he was born with. Magnus permitted himself to count each individual eyelash, thick and perfectly curled that rested on Alec’s high cheekbones. He smiled at the much more prominent sight of Alec’s eyebrow scar, a story untold and kept for the future and the dainty dusting of freckles Magnus had never noticed beforehand. It sent an overwhelming feeling of warmth boiling in his veins, burgeoning his internal body with a comfortable heat that was so nameless yet precious that Magnus wondered how he could ever attempt to dispel it.

If Magnus revealed that he was a witch, a demon, would Alec still _see_ and _want_ him the same, despite their conversations of equal acceptance? It must have been easier to discuss such matters when the subject wasn’t so close to you but here Magnus was, with inherent demon blood in the arms of a beautiful human who thought with a changed heart and mind. Even with the knowledge of what kind of king Alec wished to be, Magnus knew that his real identity was something that might inhibit progress because ultimately, he was lying.

He nuzzled impossible close to Alec’s comatose body, willing the guilt away with ebbing of hope that everything would be okay. That Magnus and Alec would be okay.

 

***

Part Three

 

_Doo-ng. Doo-ng. Doo-ng. Doo-ng. Doo-ng. Doo-ng._

                  The cacophonic sound of the tolling bell reverberated through the air of Idris from its home at the castle, tumultuous and deafeningly loud in a way that ensured every single inhabitant, in or out of consciousness, could hear it. It sent flocks of birds in a journey of migration as they sought a path away from the bell, but the humans and crows gathered in factions instead. Alec woke with a bolt, every nerve ignited with a alarming ball of fire as his conscious state acknowledged the sound that rattled the walls of the house he spent the night in. Beside him, Magnus was already awake, eyebrow drawn together in confusion as he glanced at Alec through sleepy eyes.

                  “The bell.” Alec’s voice was raspy from last night’s exertion, his limbs abused and willing him to lay them to rest for a couple more hours but he couldn’t. “It’s the castle- I have to go.”

                  An unreadable expression streaked Magnus’ face in clandestine strokes, a connotation of a painting that Alec didn’t have time to decode as he carelessly dressed himself in clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor. His mind was going a mile a minutes, his heart thrashing and his hips aching but every cracking bone that had been beaten with regal tendencies in his body told him that he had to leave, to find out what had happened.

                  Before Alec left the room, he swiftly pressed a chaste kiss on Magnus’ forehead. “I’ll come by later- apologies.”

                  Magnus shook his head once. “It’s fine, darling. Be safe, please.”

                  _Doo-ng. Doo-ng. Doo-ng_.

                  Alec wasted no more time in heading to his destination, stumbling over himself in the process of passing through the forest and the fact that he was still tired. He wondered where the burst of energy was birthed from, figuring it had to be the adrenaline intoxicating his body from the apprehending sound of the tolling bell that was getting louder and louder as Alec got closer and closer. But it was different, almost sickening chemical that tainted his blood with something acidic and dirty, like it was born from something wrong. It was only alive because something was wrong.

                  _Doo-ng. Doo-ng. Doo-ng._

                  He pushed through the accumulating crowds of people, striding past the guards and racing into the castle until he halted. Alec’ s legs felt formless, his lungs burning and lips releasing weary pants that portrayed his fatigue state but he forced himself to walk towards the voices he could hear in the great hall. Rather than voices, Alec noted with a wave of trepidation, it sounded more like _crying_.

                  _Doo-ng_.

                  In that moment of realisation, Alec simply stopped. Stopped moving, breathing, functioning, thinking- just stopped altogether as if God had switched him off like a child’s toy. It was like being in a vacuum, but Alec wasn’t there, wasn’t existing, wasn’t even a speck of an insignificant dust particle. He couldn’t hear the cries, the wailing and the tears and couldn’t feel his own heart beating against his chest and couldn’t see anything. There was no colour, not white or black or grey, just nothing. A whole entire nothing.

                  It was laughable really. How Alec could be on opposite sides of an emotional based spectrum in a matter of a single night. To be so unbelievably euphoric, brimming with a tangible epitome of pure elation as he shared such an intimate, private yet beautiful and sacred night with Magnus. To be so wrapped up in his own happiness that he irresponsibly disregarded the current plight of the world outside of Magnus’ bedroom, but dear God in heaven was Alec happy. And here he was now, like he had woken up from a dream to be slapped across the face with despondent reality. To be so fucking inexplicably numb that Alec didn’t even know if he was alive or not.

                  But Alec _was_ alive.

                  Before he noticed, Alec was already standing beyond the small body laid gently atop of the table, wrapped in a cushion of blankets and appearing so lethally pale. He could have been sleeping, was what some would and have said in the presence of a corpse but all Alec could see was a dead person, no matter how strenuously he tried at the back of his mind to wane the image away, it was there, he was right there, little dead Max.

                  Blood had soaked his navy nightshirt, like a dark scarlet oil painting because it still appeared wet, like it hadn’t been that long since the crime was committed, like it could have been stymied from ever happening in the first place. Alec could see the despicable wound wedged deep within his little brother’s body, the opening of the young flesh so long and deep that it almost expanded over his entire torso. As if the knife was too big for his little body.

                  “What happened?” Alec asked quietly, his throat clogged and his eyes burning but he didn’t have enough self-consideration to allow himself the catharsis of crying just yet.

                  As if his words cut an edge into the grieving session, Alec was startled at the sudden force inflicted upon him, losing his balance and almost toppling over before his mind reeled to reality. Isabelle slammed her forearms and fists against his chest, being as far as she could reach in painful, constant motions, her hair a dark rainfall of disarray around her tear stained face.

                  “Where were you?” Isabelle cried, her hands slamming against Alec in forceful pushes in accordance to her words. “All of this- where have you been? He was…He was looking for you!”

                  Stunned, Alec released his hold on Isabelle’s wrists that he got during her yell, letting his arms fall around her in a firm embrace that shook the both of them as they cried together. He didn’t know why he felt that he deserved to cry, not when Max’s death involved him but he thought that as a brother of the deceased, he could cry, if only just a little bit. An ounce was all Alec needed, all he thirst for, just an iota of relinquishment of emotions to rid himself of them altogether and instead arm himself with conviction for indulgent vengeance.

The funeral was held later on the same day, Max wrapped and embraced in black cloth as his body was buried in the private castle graveyard, where all the rest of their regal ancestors of Idris were buried. It was an honour, King Robert had said but Alec wondered how a nine year old even knew the meaning of the word and why in the hell it would even matter.

He watched as his remaining siblings cried, saw the quaking shoulders of his mother and the high head his father held. Alec hated every moment he was there, disgusted by the entire ceremony that was suddenly in motion and wondered what Max could have done to ever deserve such a tragic fate? Why God was so unkind to those so innocent? But maybe it was God’s method of punishing Alec for his faults and lack of responsibility, or perhaps it was a God rewarding The Circle for their unyielding efforts to be known and heard? Whatever the reason, Alec couldn’t care to perceive it into more depth because as soon as the funeral was over he was striding to his private bedroom.

It was mechanical, the way Alec manoeuvred himself around the room to acquire his combat boots and belt, clad himself in Idris’ black battle gear before his eyes lingered on the weapon in his wardrobe. He traced his fingers over the box that contained his bow, memories of its use rushing through the young prince at an incomprehensible speed so Alec wasted no more time and retrieved it, calloused hands moulding over the undulated grip in a painful yet familiar clutch. His mind conjured up somewhat chronological fragments of a plan on the way to the weapons room where he brandished himself with daggers, arrows and swords, momentarily thinking back on his conversation with Jace before Max’s funeral began:

_“It was The Circle,” Jace spoke hollowly, eyes bloodshot red as tears still walked down his cheeks but he took no notice of them. “The bastards left a fucking note. A piece of paper, like that equated to Max’s life.”_

_Alec snatched the bloody parchment from Jace’s trembling hands and found that the paper still shook under his own hold but he didn’t have time to placate himself as his eyes ran miles over the words printed with black ink, appearing like tiny snakes that slithered unnervingly across the page. It was propaganda, a litany of self-righteous justice and hopes of how they wished that the royalty and the Clave now realised they were serious for they were to do a lot worse if Idris didn’t respond with submission under their rule. All Alec could really focus on was the bloody, scarlet red circle signet at the end of the letter, like a hypnotic cycle that captivating him in a trance brimming with blood before he jettisoned it and breathed in a new kind of air…_

If the witches wanted to be heard, then Alec would listen. He was no longer going to be tuning out the sounds of their screams, their pleas and begs. He was going to fucking listen to them cry for mercy under his hands, weep for loved ones and send them all back to hell where they belonged.

***

He had no idea how many he had killed, had no clue how much blood was on his hands but Alec caged all the responsibilities for the killings deep within him, an open gate to an endless tunnel. Time was something out of the window, a thing of the past as Alec shoved his sword deep into a hooded figure, released an expert shot of his bowstring so the trajectory of his arrow ended at another of the Circle member’s eye socket, a gurgle of blood splattering the air as they fell in an unceremonious heap of anguished screams.

                  Even as Alec massacred the group of Circle soldiers, he was never caught in a web of magic, stymied in his fighting stance or lunges because of some transcendental power that Satan had gifted them. Throughout it all, his mind wondered whether witches were even real because he thought that perhaps killing them with his bare hands would feel different in comparison to a normal human, but Alec couldn’t decipher the difference between the two. If there even was one.

                  “Praise be to Valentine!” A Circle member that Alec assumed to be dead, what with the dagger lodged in his chest. Perhaps he had missed the stranger’s vitals, which the young prince was about to fix when the Circle member suddenly clawed at his leg in an endeavour to halt him. “Praise be to Valentine. Most divine, most righteous. Justice for Valentine.”

                  Alec clenched his jaw, a sudden eruption of boiling emotion singing his flesh in blisters form within. He looked down at the figure and spat “what was divine about murdering my little brother? What sort of twisted justice could you possibly find in such an act? I should fucking disembowel you and hang your entrails on a flag.”

                  But the Circle member only tightened their grasp of Alec’s ankle, as if the last of their life was festering into that single clutch. A last attempt for someone to listen. “Valentine is out benevolent leader. All he wishes is to help you all. You must listen, praise be to Valentine.”

                  “Shut up with your fucking praises!” Alec yelled, yanking his legs from the man’s grip to throw himself against him as he punched his hooded face. “How is all _this_ helping anyone- why don’t you use your magic and kill me like you killed Max-“

                  A cough choked with saliva gurgled out of the Circle member’s mouth, his nose bleeding from the hit but he persevered with his speech, wanting his last words to be said. “We do not possess such power- Valentine, praise him. Praise him! Oh, praise to Valen-“

                  Alec slammed the helpless man’s head on the musty ground, hearing the deafening _thud_ rattle like a lethal harmony in his ears. “Shut the fuck up before I cut out your tongue. What are you talking about? You’re a witch- witches acquired the devil’s powers.”

                  “Yes sir- but I am no witch,” The man wheezed, and Alec could see the figments of his soul abandoning him, his limbs now lifeless beside him. “Valentine- Valentine wishes us all to be, he works with an entity from hell- you all are his sacrifice- Valentine…Praise…to Valentine…”

                  The information entered Alec as soon as it left the mind of the dead man beneath him, and he got up on stuttering legs, his stomach heaving and heart beating a sick, twisted rhythm like a devil’s lullaby. He looked at the blood crusting his knuckles, at the bodies on the soil and retched acidic bile from his insides when he came to a frightening conclusion that Alec never wanted to be confirmed, something that had always been at the back of his mind but never breaching the surface. Had all this time, all the _witches_ he thought to be witches contaminated with demon blood, actually been human? His mind suddenly whirled back to the memory of his nine-year-old self, the image of that screaming mother on fire, Alec’s first murder.

                  But the more he thought about it, the more Alec realised that it didn’t matter. Whether or not the witches were actually witches, something that he had always had his doubts on in the first place, it didn’t matter in the bigger picture of things. Because ultimately, Alec was a murderer, like the people who had murdered Max- he was just the same disgusting filth as them.

                  Alec felt strange, almost feather like and a little lightheaded as a nauseating cloud hugged his periphery and a terse sense of dread filled him so swiftly that it could have always been there, but the prince just hadn’t noticed. Yet something was different.

The air felt neither cold or warm as if all laws of nature had been dispelled, but Alec had a rush of goose bumps litter his arms and beads of perspiration moisten his forehead where he stood, frozen, immobile and still. His hand was tight around the bow’s grip, bloody from open callouses and lacerated with abuse but he gave no heed to the pain there or the injuries scattered across his body as he simply stared ahead to the impending footsteps.

                  A silhouette of an abnormally tall man ambled towards him, enacting a precise motif of strides that was scarce of any cacophony from his boots as if he weren’t there at all, a figment of Alec’s imagination, a sauntering nightmare. Not an ounce of dirt or soil clung to him during his promenade, his presence repelling all grime from the human world like it even nature was subservient to him. A crown of vermillion thorns circled his thick black locks of hair, a scarlet hue that reminded Alec of fresh blood and his eyes were a feral yellow, ringing an alarming familiarity in his mind that he couldn’t pinpoint.

                  With a swift movement, the man bought his face to Alec’s neck, his thorns pricking his cheek and nose lining the nape of his neck in a languid speed. His thin lips touched Alec like a fatal kiss, instantaneously cold and hot and unnerving. Alec heard the intake of breath, the hot puffs of breath as the man spoke, dark and deep and cold.

                  “You carry his scent on your skin. That boy is as rebellious as they come,” The man held a nostalgic tone to his voice, almost fond if not for the threatening underlay lacing his words. “To think he would imprint on a lowly being such as yourself, Mr Alexander Gideon Lightwood.”

                  Alec’s bones held no strength, muscles like molten gold as his legs shook with knocking knees under invisible pressure, throat and lips as dry as sandpaper like it had been days since they were in the company of water. It was almost painful to speak. “Wh-who are you? The Circle-”

                  A shrill laugh shattered Alec’s eardrums despite the man’s baritone voice. “I have no direct affiliation with the Circle, child. They are merely a distraction. I am beyond the self-inflicted disorder of this world.”

                  Confusion filled Alec, the threads of his mind hanging onto his increasing questions of who on earth this man was, what he wanted and why with him. He was admittedly shaken by his looming presence, apprehension distorting his stance into one of coerced submission.

                  The man leaned back, serpentine gaze studying the fear lined across Alec’s features like it sated his hunger. “Fine, I concede. It is only fair that you know my name as I know yours, child. I am Asmodeus.”

In an instant, Alec felt his blood run hot and cold, his feverish state catching up with him as he swayed dangerously on his unsteady feet, the grasp on his weapon loosening unwittingly with wane. “Y-you-“

“Yes,” Asmodeus smiled unkindly, the slit in his yellow eyes dilating further at the observation of trepidation subjugating the human in front of him. “I am a scion of Satan, the most almighty Prince of Hell. Or those are the words that stain your nugatory prayer books and infiltrate your little naïve minds, damned child.”

There didn’t contemporarily exist a collective or single of words to describe the feeling Alec currently drowned in, formless and lost. His mind held no logical sense of his surroundings, razed by the reality he was in that he simply accepted by staying but the fact that he was still standing meant that he must have still retained conviction. But Alec didn’t know. His mind was racing with incoherent jumbles of letters, but Alec felt like a child trying to read _The Iliad_. Absolute nonsense.

“Hmm, now that pleasantries cease, I’ll apprise you with my intentions,” Asmodeus articulated perfunctorily, eyes never straying from Alec and long fingers stretching to accommodate the distance between him and the human’s chin which he held gently, so cold and hot. “You, child of your God, are a plague. My son’s petulance is marginally tolerable but his disgusting infatuation with you inhibits everything that I stand for him. Do you understand?

“Your existence is unnecessary, Alexander,” Asmodeus whispered the words, letting the seconds linger and breach Alec’s ears and gear into his mind before he bought his other hand to the human’s chest.

Blood spewed, spurted and stained Asmodeus’ hand that was currently wedged within Alec’s chest, having already sliced through his thick arteries and crumbled his ribs like rubble in an instant, hindering any sort of painful moan, groan or whimper to leave Alec’s mouth. His porcelain arachnodactyly fingers cupped Alec’s heart, caressing the muscle fondly before drowning it in a tempest of hellish magic, dark black swirls and red whorls contorting the life in Alec into a state of absolute anarchy.

Asmodeus let the body fall, lifeless as it plummeted to the dusty ground, tilting his head at the blood on his hands before removing any traces of it with a quick spell. He glanced down at the body beneath his feet, cringing when the increasing puddle of red liquid began to circle around his shoes as he assumed this to be a rather quick ordeal that wouldn’t end up with him getting messy. Well, not that messy anyway. When Asmodeus was in the midst of retreating, he halted in his silent movements at the apparition of a certain someone, a soulless smile curling lines into his face.

                  “Alexander! Oh my- you’re okay, you’re okay…please, please say something.”

                  Asmodeus cut through the air in a rapid motion, a speed naked to the human eye. “My dear son. It has been a while.”

                  Magnus’s breath hitched in his throat, his nerves at a state of unrest as his heart thrashed wildly in his chest at the fatal sight Alexander and the presence of the one being he never thought to ever meet again. In stuttered acquiescence, he shook his head up to meet the gleaming cat eyes of his father, yellow and feral and so like his own that it made him inwardly retch for memories reluctantly flicked like a picture book in his mind. He heard his mother’s voice, the screams and the sound of blood splashing the floor in copious volumes and then the feeling of raw sandpaper in his throat when Magnus realised that a strangled cry had left his lips, like a helpless animal cornered by their prey.

                  His knees were bleeding at the harsh rocky ground that he frantically grazed himself on when he saw Alec lying on the floor but Magnus barely took notice of the stones lacerating his flesh or the other bodies scattered intermittently around them for more important blood had been spilled. Alec’s blood stained his clothes, his bare skin, the space underneath his fingernails but Magnus couldn’t care, couldn’t think, _didn’t know_.

                  Tears painted Magnus’ face in angry streaks, hot blood boiling with that familiar itch of power he was born with almost burning him from the inside out because of the increasing intensity of it. “You— _why_?”

“You share tears for this _thing_?” A confused frown tilted Asmodeus’ pale lips, his bewilderment at Magnus’ reaction shocking him greatly. “Oh dear. Magnus, is this erring off the path of sanity irremediable?”

In a flush of impulsion, Magnus stood up and faced his father, the purest disdain blotching his expression and spoke with nonchalant anger that was only restrained from the thought of him potentially hurting the man he loved. “His name is Alexander and he did nothing to deserve this. _You fucking monster_ -”

Asmodeus didn’t miss a beat of a second before raising his hand and sending a resounding slap across Magnus’ cheek, the image resembling an ordinary one of a parent reprimanding their child. A subsequent sting ignited like a flame on the son’s cheek, the all too familiar red heat painfully burning Magnus like he was suddenly back in hell. It wasn’t such the physical impact that affected Magnus but the subjugating dominance, one unnatural for even the hierarchy of a parent and child that hit him hard because it highlighted the realisation that nothing had changed. Nothing.

“How dare you? _How dare you_ , Magnus?” Asmodeus repeated in a seething voice that dripped with a level of anger only a demon could ever feel. “You are underneath me. I am the reason a piece of disobedient filth like you even exists and you dare to raise your voice at _me_?”

With long fingers, Asmodeus vigorously tugged his son’s face up towards his own, nails slicing half-crescents into the dimmed gold of Magnus’ cheeks as he was constrained to fearfully look into demonic eyes so like his own. Magnus felt the spill of his tears accumulate on his father’s hand, the smell of metal radiating off both of their bodies as they were pressed together so impossibly close that Magnus thought Asmodeus to be part of him. That Magnus was a part of Asmodeus.

His voice was eerily calm. “Apologise to your father, Magnus. For your impertinence.”

Through the rush of tears, the tight dominating detain of his face, Magnus’ voice fought hard not to tremble. “I-I apologise. Forgive me, father.”

A nefarious smile, one with sharp teeth creased the pale planes of Asmodeus’ face, the image a nightmare that haunted Magnus like an indirect reminder of he really was. That if he wanted to, if Magnus relinquished his glamour and power, he could appear just as scary. The admittance stymied impending tears because of the sheer integrity behind it and left Magnus boneless, pliant in the devil’s clutch. With renewed feelings, Asmodeus gently kissed Magnus’ cheek, beads of blood dancing on his thin lips and on the semblance it was an action so affectionately paternal but Magnus knew it was anything but.

In a tranquil serenade, Asmodeus spoke after he released Magnus from his hold but regardless of what he said it sounded almost divine, like a cherub. “You have wasted your life with these disgusting humans. Look at you. Do you not feel any ignominy? No child of mine weeps over such negligible livestock. _How pathetic_.”

The words invigorated old scars that unfurled into submissive silence and Magnus physically couldn’t look up into his father’s eyes, only watch as the life bled out of Alec, observed the way the blood seeped and embraced the ground like it was offering a layer of protection. Magnus wondered if Alec could hear him, was cognisant of the fact that he was even there. He felt a weary pang in his heart when he realised the despondent impossibility of his pondering because Magnus saw no trace of a soul caged by corporeality. Just a corpse.

“But not to worry, my child, there is not much longer until you will realise that this world is not yours to live in. Your vice liaison with this human is expendable and when you finally grow out of this rebellious stage of yours, you will appreciate me when you realise that the only home you will ever find and have ever known is with me in Hell.”

As soon as Asmodeus vanished as quickly as he appeared, Magnus dropped to his knees in an instant, heaving for pure air to inhale since it was no longer contaminated with tyrannical unscrupulousness. He felt the loose latch of his limbs carelessly grab at Alec’s colourless body, fingers trembling with blood coating them, already crusting and drying from the night air surrounding them. There was no existing definition of the typhoon of blackness that dyed Magnus’ mind, no suitable feelings or logic to describe his current amorphous state.

Fate was a cruel manipulation of time for Magnus had barely a second to collect himself, to comprehend the fact that he was previously face to face with Asmodeus, the image of his gleaming yellow eyes burnt like an old scar in his mind. Magnus couldn’t feel his anything, his brain a muscle of pink mush and hands trembling as they hovered amongst the hollow emptiness of Alec’s chest.

Only hours ago did he trace the planes of Alec’s pale skin, kiss his white aging scars and relish in his natural emanating body heat that comforted Magnus in inconceivable ways. And pressed purpling bruises like a blossoming pattern across his skin, the art abstract but certain in its conviction. And felt what seemed like a love that not even an eternity of living could ever bring, but Magnus had found it and when he realised what Alec meant to him, could mean to him, he caged those feelings they shared together in a protective box that the outside world couldn’t break through. Yet it was suddenly all ripped away from him, the bars of the cage loose and malleable under the world’s wrath that tore them away from each other, like unintentional starcrossed lovers.

Magnus gleamed at the red and black flame shaped magic feed away on Alec’s soul like a meal, licking and maiming and savouring the taste of it as it burgeoned his entire body like a forest fire. He charged up a spell in an attempt to dispel the despicable state, to at least purge Asmodeus’ trace now that it had festered and fulfilled its agenda. The cold warmth of streams of power surged within Magnus, moulding into a physical light blue plume that hugged Alec’s still body like a safety blanket. The warlock watched as his magic fought against his father’s, the mixture of hues a symbol of an external battle that needn’t its host to contribute as the magic battled themselves.

It was a quiet sound, almost inaudible and would have gone unheard of if Magnus wasn’t solely concentrating on the being that verbalised it.

“Alec?” Magnus called out urgently, eyes wide and hands careful in their grasp of said person’s shoulders. His heart was stationary before it began to thrash vigorously in his chest. “Alexander- are you still with me? Can you say something… _please, don’t leave me_.”

There was another sound, this time it was louder so Magnus could deduce the unbearable whimper of excruciating pain behind it and it sent his thrashing heart lurching to his stomach. He could feel the trembling panic rising in his bones, the elation of Alec’s living state warming his body while the rest of Magnus built up healing spells and magic. Discomforting warmth spread like a bird opening its wings for flight through Magnus’ body, wrenching his insides apart as he sought for every single droplet of power within him to heal Alec. The pin drop fixating trance Magnus was currently in, his mouth muttering and tripping over words that were thought of too rapidly to coherently voice and his rolled back shirt, relayed the zeal and strength the man possessed.

“Oh my- Alec!”

“Get the fuck away from him.”

“Damned witch!”

A sizzling snap broke Magnus out of his magical daze, his body burning from the recoil of unexpectedly dispersing his magic away when he bought his sight to the armed people around him. Soldiers upon soldiers marched towards him and in tow where Isabelle and Jace and King Robert, all wearing disgusted and fearful sketched faces that made Magnus wince at the palpable contempt in the atmosphere.

King Robert surveyed him, dark eyes bottomless pits. “You degenerative heretic scum. You will not rid me of another son! Kill him.”

Everything was happening too fast. Magnus barely able to comprehend the current plight of the situation as he reflexively muttered jargon under his breath and bought his hand up in front of Alec’s barely breathing body and himself. A colourless band outlined with fiery crimson wrapped around the pair, the air solidifying as a means of protection against everything outside of the shape. He felt the _crackle crick_ of magic at his fingertips, burning with the urge to be relinquished as offensively as possible but Magnus bit his tongue.

“Venture any closer and you will burn in flames hotter than you have ever known,” Magnus warned, his voice steady in contrast to his quaking internal state. He was _terrified_ at how everything might just play out. At his words the soldiers skidded to a halt, the ones on the frontlines cowering back when a whirl of magic singed the tip of their noses and melted the steel of their blades. A blonde man that Magnus recognised as Jace, Alec’s brother stood his ground, golden eyes fierce but Magnus could observe the tremors racking his posture. “What do you want, witch? Anything. I’ll provide you with anything- just please. _Give him back_.”

“ _I can’t_ ,” Magnus choked out, begged. He was shaking so hard, as if a permanent freezing breeze attacked his skin and insides, the weight of Alec’s life heavy in his hands he physically _couldn’t stop shaking_. “I can’t. I’m- I’m the only one who can save Alexander- please.”

Jace’s face crumpled ever so slightly, desperation pouring from the quiver of his lip. “He’s my _only_ brother.”

“I need to heal him now or he’ll-“ Magnus broke off, a sob cracking obnoxiously at his vocal cords as he silently sent soothing blue clouds of placating magic across Alec’s body. “ _Please_.”

Even if Jace would have acquiesced to Magnus’ pleas, it wasn’t the sort of appeasement that meshed well with King Robert who snarled at the sight, hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. “Quiet! I won’t tolerate this any longer, you disgraceful demon blooded abomination. Seize him.”

A slither of objection littered the crowd before Magnus felt the satisfaction of his magic functioning as a few soldiers singed through the protective layer of offensive enchantments surrounding him. He winced at the blistering ash brushing away with the notion of the wind, dusting his exposed skin with the filth of corpses. Magnus then accumulated, hoarded and stole every particle of nature’s power to transmit into the roots of the earth beneath them and released the concoction of magic to ripple away at the threads of dimensions. Formless fingers scratched and ripped at layers of earth to create a transcendental amorphous pit, unnamed colours and shapes and sounds wrapping around Magnus and Alec in a firm embrace before stealing them away, sending them through a spiral of parallel universes. An unsteady whorl of unusual nausea coiled like springs in Magnus’ body, every part of him tightening and squeezed impossibly small until it all abruptly unravelled and he was suddenly in his bedroom, the hold on his soul gone.

Pants left his mouth, sweat beading at his forehead as Magnus fought against fatigue and magical depletion to retain consciousness. His limbs were on fire, toxic acid fuelling them while he internally bowed in self-gratitude that his magical teleportation method worked without ailments. And though there were a few things he would like to reform, Magnus knew that it wasn’t the time to ponder on such little details as he gathered himself to look at Alec on the bed.

A light, erratic rise of Alec’s chest allowed Magnus to breathe just that little easier when he realised that Alec was still alive, even if barely hanging on the thinnest thread- Magnus could still save him. He summoned bottles and herbs from the paediatrician detached cabin of his house, medical instruments clattered on a tray on the bedside table and sterilisation wipes paired with each device. The strain of the constant use of magic was beginning to take another round of tribulation on Magnus’ muscles, his painful winces deaf to his own ears as he continued to stream out a morphine-like magical spell on Alec’s body, the blue so light it was almost colourless.

A guttural choke crawled up Alec’s throat, the sound animalistic and broken. “Mag-nus…”

Magnus blinked and the charm of his eyes broke away, revealing his demonic-born cat eyes glowering like blinding lights in the dark of the room. “Shh Alexander. I’m here; stay with me, okay? Trust me.”

Before Alec could clamber anymore sort of a noise, Magnus pressed his mouth to his, spilling and filling him with cerulean swirls of painless magic, feeling how it responded complementary to Alec’s wounds as they began to sew themselves up. Stich by stich, and sword by sword, Magnus’ magic fought well against the dark vortexes of Asmodeus’ dying flames as they slowly yet surely were swallowed up into a vanquishing pit that went beyond the planes of hell. As fresh vitality transmitted through Alec, it left Magnus in increments as he fought against the consequences of abusing his magic to such an extent, feeling his bones wrapped with muscle _crack_ and cry out in refusal to being bent relentlessly, but he had to persevere. To disregard his own pain for him. For Alec. All for him.

 

***

Alec’s mind woke up first, like pulling back curtains as his thoughts were suddenly active, _alive_ and he could think again. He was aware of the shouldering ache limiting his movements to the soft cushioned bed he was resting on, his head swimming in a meaningless, weak migraine as he collected his sense in increments. The smell of strong herbs and metal and antiseptic hounded his nostrils in waves, tinged with particles that carried the familiar scent of sandalwood that automatically eased an iota of concern he had for himself for his current state. It comforted him, though momentarily, Alec thought with the warm aroma he could delve into another round of slumber and rest a little longer. But then his eyes fluttered open to a blur of colours and Alec hitched a breath that died in his throat, his chest dull with pain as he inhaled and exhaled.

                  “ _Witch_.”

                  Even though it was far from what Alec yearned to say, as it only contaminated his body further with the dirty slurred fashion he spoke the word, it was all he could manage to say while images of Max’s bloody body shone in his mind like a dimmed light. The hurt was tangible in the air, Magnus’ posture slouched in such a dejected manner that it even ignited a flame of alarm in Alec despite the circumstances but he didn’t follow through with it. Didn’t try and reach out and soothe the frowning lines etched on Magnus’ face, brush and kiss away the tears that seemed to blossom without his knowledge and whisper words of comfort that everything was going to be okay. Because nothing was okay.

                  Idris wasn’t okay, Magnus wasn’t okay, and Alec wasn’t okay. No one and nothing was _even_ okay.

                  Magnus was seated in a chair beside the bed, his body stiff and ringless fingers trembling along with the transverse tones of his voice. “I’m sorry I neglected to tell you. I’m so sorry.”

                  “All this time,” Alec mused in a croak, his throat dry without the glass of water on the bedside table to help replenish it but that could wait. “Everything that _I_ told you…”

                  Magnus looked down as if the contrite of his secret bore his every nerve towards the direction of hell where his sinner soul belonged. “I didn’t know how to-“

                  “You killed him,” Alec whispered, flashes of blood and pain and tears suffocating him in a garrotting manner.

                  Magnus gasped, distraught. “I-I didn’t-“

                  “ _Your_ kind killed him.”

                  Abruptly Magnus had stood up, the mood in the atmosphere shifting drastically. “Your kind has killed many of my people! I have lost my mother, my brothers and sisters and friends because of people like you! But never once have I ever pointed my blade at you simply because you are of that kind. Never once have I ever blamed you, Alexander.”

                  Irrationality was a thing of another life and Alec bit down at the burning wound slashed on his chest, physically healed with stitching and an ugly scar but holding a copious barrage of emotional and mental turmoil that spilt out of him before he could even think to catch it with interlaced hands.

                  “No, Magnus. You’ve been lying to me, this entire time!” Alec seethed, ignoring the pain erupting at his nerves as he shifted his position on the bed in accordance to the increasing levels of anger in the room. “I trusted you. I spoke to you about everything and now my brother is dead because of it.”

                  “Don’t you dare. You spoke to me of guilt for killing and murdering all those people because they were like me. How could you expect me to reveal my true nature when you’ve been killing us your entire life?”

                  “Then it’s all been a lie,” Alec choked out, his eyes burning and throat tightening. “Hasn’t it? I am just a lie in your eyes.”

                  Magnus shook his head slowly, heartbreakingly. “ _Never_. What I feel for you is real and sincere, but-“

“What we _had_ was a beautiful mistake,” Alec said hollowly, his voice something of transcendence for he felt as though he wasn’t there at all, couldn’t justify himself for driving the blade deeper and deeper and watching as Magnus deteriorated. “Why did you even save me?”

There was a tremulous shake to Magnus’ stance, like he was endeavouring to contain himself and be emotionally compact as he cleared the hold on his throat. Alec brusquely remembered the impossible golden hue of Magnus’ eyes, like molten suns that were blindingly bright, dimmed by the inky black slitted pupil that reminded the prince of a feeling of falling, dropping. _Dying_.

The warlock relinquished a rickety breath, his now brown eyes so dark that Alec couldn’t pinpoint the size of dilation from his pupils and he thought them to be wonderfully cold. Magnus looked right at him. “Because I am selfish and despite our mistakes, our differences, and despite _you_. I love you Alexander.”

Before Magnus allowed Alec to respond, he snapped his fingers to induce a comatose state upon Alec, his human capability subjugated easily under the demon’s magic. Magnus watched as Alec’s muscles contracted, loose and limp as he reached out to brush at the unkempt dark locks matted with sweat and grime, feeling the ash of dead bodies grind between his fingertips. The pain that racked his bones, noosed itself on the carcass of Magnus’ ribs tore at him one by one leaving him gasping for air while he retracted himself from the man he loved, stumbling backwards out of the room. Alone.

Even though he shook underneath his own weight, and his mind whirled a billion miles a second, Magnus acted more out of a last resort agenda than his own self when he called out for Catarina, yelling her name through the walls of the home they built together.

“Magnus, did something go wrong-“

“You must get out of here,” Magnus cut her off hurriedly, his eyes drinking in the sight of Catarina, capturing the image of her to embed deep in his mind, for as long as he would be to remember it. “You and Madzie. Now.”

Catarina with her braided hair tied up into a messy knot on top of her head frowned, a worrying crease to her features that Magnus would have spent forever, if he still had it, easing out with careful fingers and gentle words. “What are you talking about?”

“ _Cat_ ,” Magnus stressed, pure desperation leaking in his voice. “My dearest friend. It’s over.”

“Stop it. Magnus, this situation isn’t anything we haven’t worked through before, remember New York? Remember Peru? We can just get away from it all, me, you and Madzie-“

Magnus swallowed down a clutter of sobs, his bare hands coming out to cup his friend’s face affectionately, brushing the pads of them down her damp cheeks. “I’m tired, Cat. These bones are weary and weathered and I’ve had enough. The only selfish request I want is that I see my family safe. Wherever and whatever fate may do to twist and turn you, just as long as you’re still here, safe and alive… It’s all I want.”

“When have I ever listened to you- you stupid, stupid man,” Catarina broke off, her delicate arms that were strong in their embrace wrapped and filled Magnus with so much familiarity and dependence that he wondered how careless he was to let it get this far because now he had to let it all go.

“Well, we are known for being unconventional,” Magnus chucked wetly into her hair as he hugged her just as tightly. “Use my teleportation system- the portal. Use the portal to transport you and Madzie to Ragnor’s place. My fire message must have reached him by now.”

Catarina squeezed him, crushed Magnus in her arms like she wished he was broken china bone that she could just carry around with her. “You’re really doing this, Magnus? You’re going to just leave me alone like this.”

At that Magnus inched away from the embrace, his arms carding around Catarina but pulled back enough to search the despondent lines of her face. He hated seeing her like this, hated everything more for the fact that he was the cause of it but it had to be done. This couldn’t go on any longer. “You won’t be alone, Cat. You have Madzie- and Ragnor if you so desperately need him.”

“Hmm, Satan forbid me from ever being so desperate to be pining after Ragnor Fell’s company,” Catarina rolled her teary eyes and smiled when Magnus littered a fond chuckle that plumed familiarity across her cheeks. She reached up, and brushed her dark fingers like a comb through her friend’s hair. “Oh Magnus, I wish you had never met him.”

Though the words formed phantom blades that penetrated Magnus like a thousand needles, pricking and moulding his blood like scarlet rivulets that ran from the incisions like immature waterfalls. He knew that Catarina didn’t mean her words in a way that would undermine and denounce the unadulterated, rare and euphoric love that he found together with Alec, but Magnus still wore wounds from it because if he hadn’t met Alec, then perhaps a lot of things may not have happened that would have outweighed the things that did.

Magnus’ response to Catarina was one that he kept to himself as he hugged her one last time, felt the comforting sensation of her magic on his skin that went beyond one that he could ever feel from a mortal being. She was his family through and through, regardless of blood and race and beings, Magnus was Catarina’s family.

He watched Catarina leave through the portal, her hand clasped firmly in Madzie’s who wore one of the many scarves Magnus had gave her. What Magnus felt for Madzie was something that he thought was the closest thing he could feel to parental responsibility so it was warranted, the cries that racked his body when he saw his family leave him. When he let his family leave. The sobs were the sounds of an animal that had surrendered and had just let everything be. A noisy cacophony that sounded like an irreparable loss.

 

***

Chains that were forged with electrum constricted Magnus to the position the guards commanded him to take, burning and singing his skin at the slightest of unwarranted movement that reiterated Magnus’ fate. The soldiers of Idris had broken into his house moments later after Catarina’s escape and arrested Magnus, provided him with the preface of his treason, of his sentence to death, to die by pyre like the witch he was. All he was.

His cognisance on his current circumstances were mirrored by reality and Magnus would have comically pegged himself as a psychic if not for the muzzle restraining his words to nothing more than a stuttered murmur. As someone who had lived through centuries of war, fought on the frontlines and was enslaved by many pompous fuckfaces, it wouldn’t be wrong to say that Magnus had grown somewhat accustomed to the constraints. But no matter how many times Magnus had been tied up in his long life, every single time didn’t discredit the rest of them, didn’t get easier than the others, didn’t help in subduing the sickening whorl of fear filling his mind and body. And this time it was different, which made everything all the more frightening.

Since this time, Magnus didn’t have the casual hope or confirmation that he would be able to get out of it all. That he could just escape and a couple years later down the line he would wind up back in ropes, then get out and repeat the cycle like it was a sick game he played with fate. Because this time, Magnus was staying.

                  Immortal life was tiring as much as it was exciting. Magnus appreciated the fact that he could look back on history and smirk at the context, ignite memories whether good or bad and just laugh. But he had also simply had enough; he thought that he had just had enough of this world and decided that perhaps it was time to go back. Back home.

                  A leer of alarming golden eyes flashed in his mind, the words of his father ringing insistently like Asmodeus was constantly by his side and whispering words of abasement, stained with a sonority of some sort of longing, a twisted form of love that Magnus retched inwardly at but couldn’t help to want to delve deeper into it. He had never known the love of a parent, figuring that the time he spent with Asmodeus as a child was something that erred from that conventional path and thought that perhaps things could be different now that he had grown up.

                  No. Magnus knew nothing would be. He knew that he was simply throwing himself into the fire only to be burnt in it when he returned to Hell, to inhabit planes that fuelled on flames. But there was nothing else left for Magnus, not anymore. Not now that he had abandoned his family for their own safety and protection and selfish guilt that he couldn’t do anything to prevent any of this- that he was a fucking idiot for falling in love.

                  Who knew that Magnus, a demon, would die at the hands of love?

                  The muzzle was roughly unstrapped from Magnus’ face, his chapped lips bloody and cheeks bruised as he stared at the man on the throne, King Robert with his heavy crown. Magnus had known many tyrannical kings in his life, but to be so close to one that killed so many of his people created a burning sense of responsibility of revenge for them, but his magic was dormant under the constrictions of the electrum hugging his body like snakes. Unbearably tight.

                  “Witch, your mother made a grave mistake,” King Robert spat, his dark eyes like beady holes. “Tell me. Where is Valentine?”

                  Magnus stayed quiet, his emotions tying themselves like a double knot around the electrum trapping his body in order to remain inactive- he didn’t want to _accidently_ brutally murder every single human being in the room after all. A nearby soldier whacked his back with the blunt side of his sword, invigorating the pain of the bruises that were already there to cause Magnus to hiss through his teeth, his body aching and hurting and so fucking tired.

He didn’t want to be here.

He wanted Catarina to heal him with her careful dark fingers, lovingly massage the knotted muscles of his back and listen as Madzie ruminated about her day, spilling crumbs of biscuits all over the floor. He wanted to see Ragnor, and drink and talk until their lips fell off. He wanted to eat another one of Raphael’s treats, to tease and care for him like he had been doing his entire life. Magnus closed his eyes as he thought of wanting nothing more than the safety of Alec, just his tall body and hazel eyes and soft, stumbling words like a beautiful song that he never wanted to stop listening to.

He didn’t want this.

                  King Robert issued another attack before saying. “Answer me, degenerate.”

                  “Have you ever seen an angel?” Magnus found that he had whispered, but his words were _loud_ enough to be heard. “Have you ever prostrated yourself before God- the same God that you swear the lives of many on? Because despicable shit like you, whose sins of fallacious deaths that could rival that of Satan himself, don’t get to have the comfort that God provides.”

                  “What could a demon like you ever even begin to know? How dare you kneel there, _beneath_ me and ridicule me like that? You are-“

                  Magnus wore a smile absent of orthodox connotations, something scarily askew lining it. “Even demons like me have Gods. I just choose not to believe in something that doesn’t believe in me.”

                  “Your existence is sacrilegious-“

                  “No, Lightwood. My existence exists to tell you that even as a demon, someone who God has turned their back on as you believe, even I would never attempt the discriminatory massacre of people done by your hands,” Magnus wet his lips, ran his tongue over the cuts and surveyed the soldiers in the room before looking directly at King Robert. “In this moment, I may be the one with demon blood but the real monster stands before me.”

                  There was a silence; a scuffle of uncertain boots against the carpet on the ground but no one beckoned Magnus with weapons or offensive limbs. He relished in the deafening silence that bore the atmosphere into one that he didn’t mind to pass away to, to leave the world with this silence being the last sound he heard. It was oddly satisfying.

                  Then King Robert collected himself, his crown still heavy on his head and sword glinting like a threat by his side. “Prepare the pyre and ring the bell. I want everyone in the kingdom to witness the witch’s death, to see that I will not be deterred, not with God with me- I am above _it_.”

                  Magnus held his raised head straight up, in a way that bled of the way that in actuality, it was Robert who was the one under him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to reform King Robert’s bigoted beliefs, drowning in self-superiority and subservient under the temptation of power and being at the top of the chain of being, but Magnus decided that ultimately, it was all an immortal like him could do in a mirthful fashion.

There were bad bones in everyone’s body, irrespective of blood or apparent inherent evil, everyone just had a choice. And in Magnus’ perspective, being that he thought himself to have his own set of moral principles, he was simply glad that he would be leaving the world with an impression, given the speculative murmurs that littered the hall, so susceptible to beneficial change that consequently bought a twisted smile to his face. Yes, Magnus may have the blood of a demon but he figured that the humans were far worse off.

Two soldiers clasped onto one of his arms, determining Magnus’ destination without his say but he was the one chained after all. They reached the centre of the great hall before the doors burst open and a man with unruly dark hair, nest-like and dishevelled stumbled on unsteady legs into the room, like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time. His eyes instantly found Magnus’, so simultaneously brown and green and beautiful they made the warlocks’ heart ache in a lovely tug. Reminding him of what he could have had.

“ _Magnus_ ,” Alec said in a way that was painstakingly bittersweet for the both of them. “I-I’m sorry.” And then Alec was tripping over himself, pants leaving his mouth and pluming like a breath of fresh air upon Magnus’ face when he was suddenly in front of him. “Magnus, I love you. I love you. I love you.”

The soldiers tightened their grip on Magnus’ arms, thrumming sparks of pain that shot through him but he numbed it down. He couldn’t feel _that_ kind of pain, not now. “I love you too, Alexander. I love you so much.”

Then Magnus’ knees buckled and he was being dragged away from Alec, but his ears were deaf to the sound of King Robert’s outburst, only tuned into the sound of Alec breathing and his heavy footsteps and the smell of something woodsy.

He felt scarred hands paint pink streaks across his cheeks when Alec cradled them before he smashed his lips on his. It was more of breathing words into each other’s mouth than kissing, Magnus reciprocating every one of Alec’s “ _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou_ ,” and savouring every single splint of a second they had left in each other’s hold. Even though Alec bore no magical demon blood, Magnus felt a burning empowerment of runes that he had never felt with anyone else, something of eternal spirituality or something along similar lines.

With the confirmation of Alec’s apology ensuring his vindication from the hurtful words he shared with Magnus having been cleared up in those last seconds, Magnus couldn’t be more sated. Because he knew that the man in front of him, still so young but so old with his thirst for reparative knowledge on society- Magnus was a fortress in his own belief that Alec would be the king, the leader he wanted to be. To make mistakes, and simultaneously be compassionate, to be aloof to strangers but not unpleasantly reticent, to persevere for indiscriminatory justice and be the best he could be for his people and his family. The warlock couldn’t want more.

It was as if in that moment, Magnus had already transcended, regardless of whatever fate had left for him-and not in the way the people of Idris so desperately believed they would do to reunite with God, but something like.

 _Finally_.

Magnus had found a home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> welp well this was over two months in the making and hopefully i can just concentrate on my alevels for three more weeks now it's over- i blame my poor lack on revision on this but i guess that's an invalid excuse for the examiners anywaydsadfosd---  
> the setting of this story is inspired by fifteenth/sixteenth century england, but not completely because my research was scarce and my history alevel spec doesn't cover witch burning in england unfortunately but i hope it was somewhat realistic? believable? made some semblance of sense?  
> the scene with asmodeus was written before episode 10 aired- but ohmygod, i'm soosososos intrigued to KNOW MORE about magnus' past in 3b. wow. that finale shot an arrow through my heart as well alec ;) (too soon?)  
> anyway i hope you enjoyed reading this!!! thank you if you made it this far haha :)
> 
> twitter - @neeashking - if you want to talk or something like that!!


End file.
